Power On
by truglasgowgal
Summary: Post-Sectionals. When Rachel agreed to do Puck a favor, she didn’t realize just how deeply she would be pulled into his life, or that she’d be the one to throw him a lifeline to stop him being sucked in further.
1. It's Okay To Say You've Got A Weak Spot

Yeah… I shouldn't even be considering writing this – esp. right now (and that's meant literally since it was nearly 5am when I started writing this and I have an tomor that I really have to study for) but anyway, I've wanted to write a Glee fic for ages (well, this'll be my second, but I mean a Puckleberry one, obv ;) ) and couldn't seem to follow through on any of my ideas and then this came to me and snippets of conversations followed – *breathe* – and so I give you my newest fic, and hope you enjoy it …

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**Title:** Power On  
**Disclaimer: **Don't own anything but the characterization of Sarah, shame really ;) – chapter titles from the song 'I Am Not A Robot' by Marina and the Diamonds  
**A/N:** Oh, and I'm going with the name Sarah for Puck's wee sis, 'cos apparently that's what it actually is, according to the wiki page anyway ;)  
**Summary:** Post-Sectionals. When Rachel agreed to do Puck a favor, she didn't realize just how deeply she would be pulled into his life or that she'd be the one to throw him a lifeline to stop him being sucked in further.

"_I don't want the world. I just want your half."  
_**_They Might Be Giants, 'Ana Ng'_**

.

Chapter One: It's Okay To Say You've Got A Weak Spot

"_A wise old owl sat on an oak,  
The more he saw the less he spoke;  
The less he spoke the more he heard;  
Why aren't we like that wise old bird?"  
_**_Edward Hersey Richards_**

.

When the slushie was presented to her, she didn't screw up her eyes like last time or tense in advance of the cold drink being unceremoniously splattered across her face and clothing. Instead she calmly looked up from the cool beverage, still held in his grasp, and met Noah Puckerman's gaze head-on.

"It's grape," he offered by way of explanation.

"Yes, I had already ascertained that fact," Rachel nodded her head and awarded him a brief, bright smile. "I didn't imagine you had forget my fondness for the flavor, even if you have forgotten certain other factors of late."

"Such as Glee practice," she tilted her head and raised her eyebrows at him. "I would've thought the times and days of our rehearsals were ingrained deep into the recesses of your mind, but apparently you were knocked unconscious one too many times with a football during those games of yours because you haven't been at practice for nearly a week, Puck! And we have Regionals to prepare for! And if you're not prepared to be fully committed to our endeavor of winning, then – "

"Yeah, about that… " he trailed off slightly and his gaze fell to the floor as he scratched the base of his Mohawk.

"I got a favor to ask you," and he lifted his head to face her; well, she supposed, at least he had the decency to look mildly sheepish about it, not that that excused him in any way.

He was standing in front of her asking for a favor, after he'd missed Glee practice for the third _consecutive_ time – which was simply unacceptable, by the way – and hadn't even offered so much as an explanation or some form of apology. The absolute _gall_ of the boy!

Of course, she agreed.

He flashed her a quick grin and pushed the slushie further into her line of vision and plucked the straw from behind his ear to present it to her as well. She relieved him of the drink, part grudgingly, and he looked damn near ecstatic when she took a sip; her lips curving at the edges as the taste hit her tongue.

And then suddenly she looked down and found that he had presented something else to her as well; something completely different and not at all like that which she held in her hands. Because for one, the new addition was grinning toothily up at her: and that was how she found herself face-to-face with the miniature female version of Puck.

Every bit as difficult to say _no_ to, and every bit the handful: she was also ridiculously cute.

.

"So, I have this thing I gotta do, an I wouldn't ask if I had any other option, but I don't, so I am, an yeah… 'd'you be able to keep an eye on her while I'm away for a bit?" He raised an eyebrow, his voice peaking slightly at the end, and if she didn't know any better she'd have said he was rambling. Except the boy before her didn't ramble.

"Puck! We're _supposed_ to have Glee practice," she all-but _hissed_ at him, downright scandalized at his insinuation that she should skip it to baby-sit _his_ little sister; and trying to avoid the wide-eyed look of the little girl between them.

"Yeah, I know that, but I _really_ have to do this thing, and I've no one to watch her," he actually sounded mildly apologetic, but she might've just imagined that.

"And you're sure you can't you take her with you?" she asked then, raising an eyebrow at him; she was really more curious than resentful of his actions by this stage.

"Yeah, I'm sure," he answered shortly.

He snapped his head to the side and blew out a ragged sigh before turning back to look her in the eyes, a hard edge overcoming his as he clicked his jaw out.

"Look, can you watch her or not?" he prompted, and she could've huffed at his indignant attitude; wasn't _she_ the one doing _him_ the favor?

"I can be really quiet," the voice from below piped up then. "And I could come listen to you sing, and I'd just sit there and not say a word and just listen."

She thought she heard Puck snort at this admission, but she chose to ignore it, because really, his sister was trying to help his cause and his blatant disbelief of her words wasn't helping his case any.

The youngster smiled brightly up at her, and somewhat against her better judgment, she found her heart ruling her head as she nearly melted at the sight. The girl was missing a few of her front teeth and she looked positively _adorable_; how could she ever say no to that face? She supposed that was what her brother had been counting on.

"Well, I'm sure you wouldn't be expected to maintain your silence throughout the whole of the session, though you might not be permitted to join in with the performances – we are trying to practice after all, and an additional voice, as lovely as I'm sure yours may be, would likely throw off our whole ensemble," she said to the girl; though _she_ at least _tried_ to sound mildly apologetic with her words.

Puck's little sister merely blinked up at her.

"Would you look at that – she's shut up already," he commented with a smirk.

The girl swirled round then and threw a scowl at her brother, which elicited a brief laugh from him and a flippant _whatever, kid_.

"I hope you know that I will expect you to offer me something just as monumental in return for my participation in this whole act. You are asking quite a lot of me – of all of us, really," Rachel told him then quite matter-of-factly, and with a self-satisfied smile she took a sip of the drink he'd given her.

"Right," was all he said to that, before adjusting his gaze so he was looking down at the younger female before him.

"So, you've got your stuff with you?" he asked and the little girl nodded, without uttering a word. "Alright, so… think you could try not be too off-the-wall?"

"I'm going to sit quietly and listen to the singing," was all his sister replied to that; as if she'd made her point perfectly clear once and her response now should have been obvious to him.

And Rachel decided she liked the girl; she reminded the older brunette of herself in certain ways. And she liked the ideas this thought conjured: she'd always secretly wanted a younger sibling whom she could show and impress upon her talented, but wonderfully guiding, and ultimately helpful and meaningful, ways. It seemed Sarah Puckerman could be the perfect candidate to fill that role.

"Of course you are," was his response, and it was obvious he didn't believe her for a minute.

"Listen, about this – thanks, yeah?" It couldn't have been plainer that he wasn't entirely sure what to say to her; it was mildly endearing, really. _Extremely _mildly endearing. "I just really need to do this, and I can't take her with me."

"And don't worry about the payback – I'll make it up to you for sure," he winked at her, and she rolled her eyes at the smirk that seemed to be planted firmly across his face.

"Indeed you will," she told him brightly. "On my terms."

And it was his turn to roll his eyes, before informing her offhandedly, "Her name's Sarah, by the way."

"I'm Rachel," she struck out her hand to shake the little girl's, a wide smile sunning her features. "And I really am very glad to meet your acquaintance. It's unfortunate that it has to be under these circumstances, where your brother has all but blackmailed me under the duress of your completely adorable face – which I'm sure he was counting on to win me over."

"Nonetheless, I'm certain you will thoroughly enjoy our time together, and I sincerely hope you take pleasure in our singing," she continued, and began to move towards her original destination, the little girl taking up step beside her, eyes wide as she watched mesmerized by every word that left the elder's lips. "Hopefully enough to remind your brother of the absolute importance of Glee club and all the hard work we all put into each rehearsal in preparation for Regionals, which are really not that far away, and – "

"Hey Berry!" he called out to her, cutting her off mid-sentence.

She turned at the sound of his voice, her hand on his sister's shoulder as she led her into the choir room to where the others were already seated.

"She's seven – how 'bout talking to her like a normal person would, eh?" he quipped, and then flashed her a grin, before turning on his heel and striding towards the doors with steps that were so determined she couldn't help but stare curiously after his retreating form.

.

"Don't worry, Noah'll be here soon," Sarah reassured her, swinging her legs out from under the seat and watching them disappear again. "He's never very late seeing Mom."

"He was away to see your Mom?" Rachel asked at that, because _honestly? That_ was his 'emergency'? Sure, his mother might _work_ with emergencies every day, but he couldn't pick another time to apparently go visit her than during their allotted time schedules for Glee?

"Mhmm," the seven-year-old voiced. "She makes him leave before they kick him out – or so _he_ says anyway, but I don't know how true _that _is."

She smiled down at the youngster: she was really quite smart, especially when you considered she'd most likely been subjected to the likes of Puck and Finn as her main daily influences. It was an achievement that she was so well adjusted at all with those boys around her all the time.

"He was only ever late that time she made him play to the whole ward!" Sarah told her then, turning her face up to look at the elder's; and there's excitement in her voice like only a little sister could have when she was divulging something she knew her big brother would rather she didn't. "Mom told me about it when she came back home, 'cos No didn't say _anything_ about it. And then Mom made him play the song to me, 'cos I missed it – it was really good. My brother can play guitar _really_ _well_."

And there was unabashed pride in the seven-year-old's voice that made Rachel smile along with her.

"He doesn't like me going with him when he goes to the hospital," the seven-year-old added then, her voice quite serious, and her eyes fell back down to her swaying lower limbs.

"But you've visited your mom at work before, certainly?" Rachel inquired at that, because this was all a bit vague and quite frankly, rather suspicious. And somehow, she now seemed involved in it.

"Well, yeah – but that was mainly because I'd done something, an' I sort of _had_ to see her there," Sarah answered, ducking her head a little as a cheeky smile twirled the edges of her lips upwards, and absentmindedly picking at a band-aid that was plastered across the top of her forearm.

"'Sides, Noah says this is diff'rent," she added at that, and gave Rachel a half-shrug of her shoulders when she looked up again. "He says it's too _somber_."

Sarah's lips quirked up and she fell to the side to bump shoulders with the elder as she confided in a very-ineffective whisper, "I think he probably learned that word from _you_."

Giggles erupted from the little girl's mouth then, though they were soon drowned out by the sound of a door slamming back against a wall and the appearance of a breathless Noah Puckerman moments later.

"Noah!" Sarah exclaimed in all her uncontainable excitement, and she took of instantly in a sprint to get to him.

"Alright squirt," he greeted with a quick flash of smile as she aimed her hug around his leg.

He barely stumbled as her tiny body barreled into him, and Rachel supposed he must've had practice with this routine; she felt a smile touch her lips as she watched the siblings interact.

"I see you didn't _completely _destroy the place in my absence," he remarked, and Rachel didn't miss the mark of pride in his voice with the words. "Good going."

"I told you I'd sit quietly and listen – they're really good, Noah! You should sing with them, you know," she told him, her voice taking on a tone of childish seriousness then; and Rachel momentarily wondered if it was this or his little sister's words that made him roll his eyes.

"Should I now?" he remarked, sarcasm lilting his words.

"Mhmm," the little girl nodded, and fixed her eyes on his. "Rachel even said you might get to sing a song just with her if you come back."

"I bet she did," was all he said to that, though he raised his eyebrows at the girl in question, one side of his mouth quirking up in apparent amusement.

"Just think of all that leading-man potential going to waste as your absentee record rises," Rachel responded casually, but with a decidedly pointed look aimed his way.

"Right, because I care about how many black dots or x's go against my name every time I cut class," he tossed back at her, and she caught sight of his eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly in her direction.

"Well, maybe if you cared a little more you would realize that your rising levels of non-attendance are affecting Glee's chances of doing well at Regionals, and that – "

"_God!_" he exclaimed then, through gritted teeth, clenched hands lifting and then falling by his sides once more. "Would you give it a rest with _Regionals_, already? I know this might be difficult for you to understand, because your whole life revolves around that stupid gig, but some of us actually have other things going on that take up more of our time and energy, than _Regionals_!"

"Come on, Sarah," he addressed the girl still latched onto his leg. "Let go, we're going home."

"Come on," he prompted of her, his hand gesturing for her to release him. "Sarah, come on, we're going, I mean it, let go."

She did, after another minute or so; and with more reluctance and grumbling than Rachel could've predicted.

He grabbed her backpack from where it sat primly on the chair by the doorway ready for him to collect, her doing of course, and nudged the youngster out the door ahead of him without even a backward glance.

"Come on," he repeated as they started to walk along the corridor to the front doors, and Rachel stepped out to watch them go.

"Hey!" she heard Sarah protest then, and she twisted her little body to clasp his hand firmly between both of hers, digging her heels in to slow his solid march until it came to a halt.

"What?" he demanded, turning to face her, having done as she'd intended.

The little girl stared back at him with a stern look on her face around a small pout that pinched her lips together as she told him, "You said I wasn't ever to let you go – no matter what you said. You said you'd always be here, which meant I wasn't _allowed_ to let you go."

He released a sigh and she watched him close his eyes slowly. When he opened them, he simply replied, "You're right. I'm always gonna be here, an that means you're always gonna be with me. We're stuck with each other."

"Satisfied?" he asked, and wiggled his eyebrows at her.

She grinned and nodded her head enthusiastically.

"Good," he remarked and turned to start walking towards the door once more.

"Do the weight lifting!" Sarah shouted at him then, and tugged a little more at his arm with both of hers.

And as he hoisted his little sister in the air and then dropped her to the floor, before repeating the action again-and-again; she caught the smile that was sent straight to her as they passed through the doorway, and she knew it was in reference to any and all of the his choice wording.

The little hand that waved to her from the truck window, however, that spoke volumes of a _thank-you_.

**_TBC..._**

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A/N: This won't be a babysitting fic – though some babysitting might be covered over other chapters.

Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think – it means a lot!  
Steph  
xxx


	2. You've Been Acting Awful Tough Lately

Wow!  
The reaction to my first post certainly makes me feel better about spending most of my time writing this rather than cramming for my exam – which went abysmally btw, but enough self pity haha because checking my email afterwards to find that over forty-five people have this on alert, and loads have already favourited, certainly cheered me up to no end :D No pressure, eh people? ;)  
I actually had to restrain myself a bit from posting this. See, I'm trying to do the thing I used to, which is to have the next chapter typed up – at least the majority of it – before I update, simply because it would allow me to actually be a bit more consistent with posts, but we shall see in future how well my resolve holds out ;P  
Oh, just one more thing (I promise) I'd just like to say a huge initial thank-you to all those who have read/reviewed/alerted/favourited – it really means so much to me, and I'm quite overwhelmed by the response I've had thus far, so I hope I don't disappoint, and that you enjoy this next installment…

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Chapter Two: You've Been Acting Awful Tough Lately

_It is true that we lie with our mouth; but with the grimace we make when we do so, we still end up telling the truth.  
_**_'Beyond Good And Evil', Nietzsche_**

.

When she walked into the choir room that day (naturally she was early, because she always liked to get a head start on her own performance before the others appeared) he was sitting in the far corner strumming on his guitar.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in thinly veiled surprise. "I didn't realize you'd be joining us for Glee today."

He put his guitar down and turned to face her, heaving a tired sigh, as he countered, "I didn't realize I had to inform you of my life schedule."

"Well, of course you don't," she replied, because that really was quite a ridiculous notion. "I was just implying that your absence at Glee of late caused me to assume you wouldn't be making an appearance today. I apologize, I shouldn't have done that."

He just continued to look at her, and she shifted where she was standing, because she _really_ wasn't sure what was supposed to happen now. After a few moments, he provided an answer for her by shaking his head, and effectively dismissing her by turning back to his guitar, settling it on his lap and plucking away absentmindedly at the strings again.

"How's Sarah?" she asked in a clear voice; because ignoring someone like he was doing was simply rude and _she_ at least knew better than that.

She pulled off her cardigan and draped it carefully over the back of the chair, readjusting herself so she was positioned towards him. She liked to give the person she was addressing her full attention; it was only manners, after all, and she had been raised exceptionally well by her fathers.

"Fine," was his gruff reply.

"I take it you found someone to watch her while you attend rehearsal?" she inquired then.

"She's got soccer practice," he merely responded.

"Oh, well that's good to hear," she told him with a smile; the curve of her lips toning each of her words with cheerfulness and he spared her a fleeting look with the words. "She really is a delightful little girl, you know. Though I'm sure you're aware of that."

He sent her another sideways glance as she continued on, "She was exceptionally eager to impress on us the fact that she could accompany us on guitar – apparently her _big brother_ was teaching her how to play."

"She suggested _Sweet Caroline_," and by this point Rachel couldn't contain the amusement in her voice, that teasing lilt that not many people ever actually got to hear shining through with every word she spoke.

He turned to her with a low groan and saw how pleased she was with herself. "Are you quite done?"

"No," she told him tartly then, staring him down. "You might've thought to warn me that she has a habit of expecting to get her own way."

"It was quite a shock to say the least when she turned from an obedient addition to our group, quietly and politely listening as we performed; to an absolute _hellion_ who all but demanded we allow her to play the accompaniment to one of our songs or she'd – what was it?" she pretended to consider the exact quote for a moment (it added to the dramatic effect of it all) before boring her eyes into his once more as she told him, "That's right, she'd _take every instrument she could find and stamp all over it so no one got to play with them – and then she'd scream until she lost her voice so we sounded terrible and even then she'd make sure to jump up and down to distract us all_."

"Yes, I'm quite sure that's what she said," she affirmed, her eyes never straying from his form.

He shrugged at her, his whole demeanor every bit the epitome of nonchalance as he simply smirked back at her in return.

"Not got a lot of experience with kids, have you, Berry?" he asked after a moment, when she was positively fit to burst as he eyed her with that smug expression of his.

"None that have mood swings of complete 180 degree turns such as those your sister displays. No, you're quite correct, I don't have much experience there," Rachel rephrased.

He simply gave her a half-shrug, turning his attention back to his guitar, as he said, "She's seven, Berry, and you've seen what she looks like – 'course she gets her own way, she knows how to work the Puckerman charm."

He winked at her then, and when she huffed, arms crossing over her chest, a laugh escaped his lips before the low familiar melody of his fingers against the guitar strings filled the air.

He was playing that on purpose; she was _well_ aware, most likely in some sort of attempt at riling her.

She kept her eyes firmly on the clock on the far wall, watching as each minute ticked away until nearly five whole minutes had passed and the chords for _Sweet Caroline_ were still playing through the room.

"Why did you have to go see your mom yesterday?" she turned back to look at him, watching him closely as she posed the question. "At the hospital."

He kept playing, but she caught sight of the notes he missed, her ears picking up on his slip and the way his fingers shifted quickly to correct it; he really was very dexterously talented, but her query caught him off-guard.

"Sarah mentioned that was where you were going and that you didn't like her accompanying you," she added by way of explanation, tilting her head in an attempt to achieve a better view of his face, his reaction.

"So I went to see my mom, what's it to you?" he finally bit out, abandoning his guitar altogether as he twisted his head round to face her.

"Nothing, I was just curious – I – " she was startled by his own sudden change: she was aware that he had something of a split personality; a trait that seemed to possess all those in the Puckerman family, but this was different. This was him being defensive.

"I became worried when you were late picking Sarah up, and I wanted to ensure everything was alright, that was all," she staggered to pacify him somewhat, though she would be lying if she said his change in attitude didn't simply cause her curiosity level to heighten. "I apologize if – "

"Everything's _fine_," he ground out, as the chatter of their peers began to gain volume as their footsteps neared the choir room.

When the others began to file into the space, seemingly too distracted by their own conversations to take note of the tension between the two that already occupied one side of the room, he spoke up once more.

"And quit with the sorry-act, would you?" he _requested_, his brow held in a tight frown as he stared straight ahead at the empty wall on the other side of the room, vehemently refusing to meet her eyes. "It's really starting to grate on my nerves."

.

He was present at every rehearsal the following week, but he was never there earlier than the allotted time and he never seemed to take up a position that was any closer to her than at least three bodies apart. His deliberate avoidance of her entire presence was really beginning to grate on _her _nerves.

Which was why she couldn't help the little flips her stomach did when she saw him loitering by the piano at the end of practice, seemingly waiting to speak with Mr. Schu. She arrived first and left last, as should've been custom with the star lead. And so he could hardly avoid her if she was still there when he himself was also. It was set up perfectly really, and who was she to stand in the way of such a well-laid out twist in her favor?

She busied herself with slowly collecting the sheets of music from where the rest of the group had left them scattered around the room, and tried not to eavesdrop too much on the conversation between the two males not ten feet away from her.

"Hey, Mr. Schu," she heard Puck clear hit throat and address their teacher. "Think I can talk to you a second?"

"Sure, Puck, what can I do you for?" the elder immediately obliged, putting his notes in his satchel and turning his full attention to the boy before him.

"It's about Saturday's rehearsal," he said, and Rachel saw him duck his head and raise a hand to scratch at the base of his shaved head; she knew a guilty look when she saw one, and she was riveted as she watched the encounter unfold before her very eyes. "I can't make it."

"Puck, this is a big deal for us – we really need everyone at the rehearsal on Saturday," Mr. Schu told him.

"Yeah, I get that, but my little sister has a soccer tournament an I gotta go with her to it," he explained, and Rachel could tell he seemed more apologetic with his words to their teacher than he had been to her the previous week.

"Can't you get anyone else to take her? Maybe she could carpool with someone?" the elder asked, clearly torn.

She could tell from the look on Puck's face, even from her position on the other side of the room, that there was no way he'd be having Sarah do that.

He shook his head, and preceded to prove her point correct, "Look, I'm sorry I can't be there – I'll stay later one night or work on it over lunch or something to make up for it, if you want. I just – I gotta be there for my sister, you know?"

Mr. Schu smiled at him, understanding in his voice, even if it was tinged with disappointment, as he told the younger, "You do what you've got to do, Puck. Glee will still be here for you."

"And hey, maybe Rachel could help you with those extra rehearsals," he suggested in a loud voice, drawing her attention over to them.

"Excuse me?" she questioned, spinning round and eyeing their teacher closely.

"You'll help Puck with catching up on the steps and the songs, won't you?" Mr. Schu prompted and then with a bright, almost _smug_, smile– that Rachel didn't like one bit, by the way – he was out the door, and she was left standing alone in the choir room with Puck.

So, she took her chance before he bolted from sight, because with the way he'd been acting lately, she really wouldn't put it past him.

With great gusto she thrust the papers she'd just collected onto an empty chair and strode determinedly across to where he was still standing.

"Did I hear that correctly?" she questioned, her face taking on as hard an edge as her voice had. "You're going to missing rehearsal tomorrow? And Mr. Schu has just taken it upon himself to elect _me_ as your personal tutor because you're too disorganized to schedule what little you actually do with your time to be able to fit in one of the most important Glee rehearsal's we've had as well as spending time with your family?"

She was breathing hard by the end of her rant, and when she blinked and looked into his eyes, she noted that they were swirling with color; like a mood ring that churned out a shade not even on the scale because it was too dark and _somber_ for the messages supposed to be displayed.

"Remember when I said some of us actually have more important things to do than just prance around a stage all the time, singing and dancing?" he said, and she nearly shirked back at his harsh tone when he leaned down towards her. "Well, guess what? This is one of those times, Berry."

Her hands were on her hips and before she could really comprehend what she was saying, the words that flown from her mouth in like they were fleeing the fire within.

"Well, if you care so little about Glee, why don't you just quit then? With the minimal effort you've been putting in lately, not to mention your shocking levels of commitment, I'm sure we can find someone to fill your spot – and perform at a level surpassing your own, no doubt. Though with what you've been showcasing lately, I can't imagine that'd be very difficult."

"Oh, give me a break, Berry!" he cried out at that. "Seriously! So, I missed a few practices, big deal! There are more important things in life, you know!"

"And don't think I don't know what this is really about," he went on, and stared her down with the words. "You're just pissed off 'cos you think Schu's giving me some special treatment or whatever an you don't think it's _fair_. Well, I don't give a – "

"You're right, I don't think it's fair," she cut him off with her agreement, and seemed to momentarily stun him into silence with it too.

"What?" he questioned after the beats of silence left hanging in the air threatened to suffocate them, his brow screwing up in obviously confusion at _her_ sudden change in attitude.

She inwardly smiled; good, it would be beneficial for him to be on the receiving end of such a maneuver, for once.

And so she continued, "I _don't_ think it's fair that Mr. Schu is allowing you all this time off from rehearsal with absolutely _no_ repercussions _whatsoever_, and I don't understand why _I _should be the one to suffer by giving up my own time and effort to help _you_ when you've given me nothing to suggest this isn't merely a demonstration of your lack of ability to maintain some semblance of order in your life."

"I'm keeping the order in my life just fine," he told her, his temper smoldering. "You just don't like that I put my _family_ above some stupid after-school special, when not even _you_ can claim that."

"You don't know anything about how I view my family," she returned indignantly, lips pursed as she faced him completely, hands on the hips as a natural progression.

"Yeah?" he all but sneered at her. "Well, you don't know anything about how I view _my_ family, either."

"I know you've been spending more time with your sister than you ever used to," she returned.

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her. "And how would you know anything about that, hmm?"

"You think I never talked to my sister before? Never looked after her before?" he demanded of her, his eyes narrowing at her apparently blatant insinuations pertaining to his serious _lack_ of involvement in Sarah's life thus far. "She's my sister, 'course I did."

"Alright, well, I at least know that you've taken to having to care for her because your Mom can't – that you won't let her see your mother when she's at the hospital. Did something happen, Noah? Is your Mom alright?" Rachel asked, her voice dropping lower as her face softened and she tried to appeal to him to open up, to let her in, to let her _help_.

"Nothing _happened_," he spat out; his face contorted with anger. "My Mom's _fine_."

"I don't think she is, Noah," she countered quietly, prodding gently, but effectively; because she _needed_ to see his reaction, needed to know that she was right, that there _was _something wrong, that he wasn't just being difficult, that he was actually going through something.

"And would you just _stop_ with the Noah, already?" he suddenly switched directions on her.

She ignored his frustrated outburst and stayed on the path she was determined to keep as hot topic; if she swayed she'd never get through to him.

"And quite frankly, I'm concerned," Rachel finally admitted; as if it was some big secret that could unravel everything.

"Well, you can keep your concern," he gritted out, and she could practically _hear_ the words grating against his teeth as they spilt out from his lips, his back already to her as he headed out the door.

And then almost so she couldn't hear it, he added, "I don't want your pity."

_**TBC…**_

* * *

A/N: sorry if you think this is moving quite slowly, it should pick up with the next chapter or so – which is v. long ;) and a little lighter on the angst  
Also, if anyone has any ideas as to things they'd like to be included, feel free to throw them my way – or any thoughts of Puck's repayment of Rachel's favor (no, I haven't forgotten!)

Thanks so much for reading, and please let me know what you think!  
Steph  
xxx


	3. But Inside, You’re Just A Little Baby

A/N: In some parts of this chapter and beyond, Sarah might seem quite old/wise beyond her years. That's because she is. Kids grow up when they have to; but some of them get the chance to still be kids from time-to-time, and they tend to grasp it with open arms.  
That's my explanation for anything that follows really, sorry if it doesn't suffice ;)

* * *

Chapter Three: But Inside, You're Just A Little Baby

_Secrets are made to be found out with time.  
_**_Charles Sanford_**

.

"Rachel?" a voice asked as soon as the line connected.

"Hello? Who is this?" she returned, her brow falling into a slight frown as she tried to place the voice.

"It's Sarah," the female on the other end replied; and suddenly it made sense. She thought she must've read it wrong when _Noah_ had flashed across her screen and it hadn't been his gravely voice that greeted her.

She'd blame him for the worry he was causing her over whether or not they'd be ready and _good enough_ for Regionals, if she wasn't so concerned with him, and what was going on in his life.

"I got your number from Noah's phone," she informed the elder, and Rachel could hear the giddy pride in her voice as she let that little piece of information slip.

"How very underhanded of you," Rachel replied, her lips curving into a smile.

"He let me use it to call Mom earlier and I saw your name in his contacts," the seven-year-old enlightened her, obviously pleased with herself.

"D'you know you have a star after your name?" were the next words that reached Rachel's ears, inquisitiveness in her tone. "Why is that?"

"I put my name and number into your brother's phone, and I always sign my name with a star – it's a metaphor," she clarified. "That means – "

"I know what a metaphor is," Sarah cut her off. "I'm seven, not stupid. I do my homework. _And_ I read. Lots."

"Well, I'm very glad to hear that," Rachel replied; and she genuinely was. Too many children these days simply weren't reaching the required levels of reading and writing. And in today's society, with all the resources available, she personally felt it was shocking, and completely unacceptable. It was part of the reason she herself made sure to work ever more intensely on her academics, because she would not be tarred with the same brush as those who simply didn't apply themselves.

She realized then that many people likely included Sarah's brother in that category, but Rachel knew he had an abundance of untapped potential within him. Anyone who watched him play guitar, or sing, or – anyone who paid _attention_ to Noah Puckerman could see that he was made for bigger things than what the rest of this town predicted for him. It was a shame that not even he could believe this about himself at times.

"And what can I do for you this afternoon, Sarah?" she asked next, because she knew there had to a reason for this call.

"_Well_… " the young girl trailed off, and she could imagine the seven-year-old twirling the telephone cord around her fingers as she thought of the exact way she wanted to phrase her next line. "I was _wondering_… "

"Yes?" she prompted; already amused by the girl's antics.

"Do you want to come over to my house?" Sarah asked her, the words spilling quickly from her mouth as her excitement emanated through her every word.

"It'll be really fun – we can do anything you want! Anything at all!" the girl was speaking in such a rush; Rachel had to concentrate that bit harder to listen correctly and ensure she didn't miss any essential details. "Well, maybe not _anything_, 'cos we don't really have _that_ much stuff, but I bet we could come up with something totally awesome and fun."

"Please?" Sarah ended, her voice peaking at the top of her request.

Rachel laughed, "You know, I'd really love to, but – "

"Good, then you'll come?" the seven-year-old broke in excitedly. " 'cos Gladys is _really _boring, and if you come she can go. All she does is sit there and she doesn't even _talk_, and I mean, who doesn't _talk_? You talk _loads_ – you talk more than _me_ even!"

"Who's Gladys?" she queried then, because it was bad enough that she'd likely have to run this by Puck, she didn't want someone else feeling like she was stepping on their toes as well.

"Our next door neighbor, she's really old," Sarah told her simply. "Like a cat lady."

"I'm not certain I agree with instructing an elderly lady to leave the premises of a home that isn't even my own, just because I've been invited over to spend time with you," Rachel told her; because she really did feel quite bad about what the girl was suggesting she should do.

"Why?" the seven-year-old queried. "It jus' means she can go back to her house an' sleep there – which she'd much rather do, _trust me_, she's been complaining about how our chair isn't good for her back, somethin' 'bout her _room-toads_. I dunno, the lady's _crazy_, Rachel, you gotta save me!"

That child should be on the stage, was all that was going through Rachel's mind then. She had far too much energy and she was ridiculously dramatic; an outlet such as drama or _music_ even, would do her wonders. She wondered what her _brother _would have to say about that suggestion.

That brought her back to reality with a startlingly sober notion, "As I was saying, Sarah, as much as I really do appreciate your offer, and would gladly accept, I'm not sure – "

"What Noah will say?" the youngster cut in; and Rachel had to wonder, was she really that transparent? Even over the phone? Clearly that was a sign that the boy was occupying her thoughts far too much. And yet, she hadn't really made much headway with the whole situation, and Rachel Berry was no quitter; not a drop-out or one to fail either. When she set her mind to something, she succeeded, always. It was hard work, was all. And she had a plentiful backlog of success behind her to tell her; her method was as successful as they came.

"Well, Mom said I can have friends over – as long as we don't make a mess, 'cos No doesn't _do_ cleaning, 'pparently," Sarah informed her. "And you're my friend, and I want you to come over, so No's out of luck."

She could envision the smile on the seven-year-old's face at that, all triumphant and delighted.

"Mom's rules still stick, even if she's not here," the little girl told her; and the way she said it was as if she'd been reminded of this fact multiple times, as if she reminded others, of this fact multiple times; so as not to forget.

"Well, in that case, I shall be right over," Rachel conceded and her lips split into a wide smile when Sarah squealed down the phone in instant delight before rattling off her address and instructing the elder not to be too long because: _I told you she was crazy, right, Rachel? Well if you take too long, she'll probably shave all my hair off to knit her cats a jumper or something – why'd you think No has that haircut?_

.

Rachel walked the distance to Puck's house; it wasn't too far, and she enjoyed the fresh air and the opportunity the time allowed her to process some of her thoughts. Not to mention a little extra exercise never truly hurt anyone; everyone knew it was the underlying conditions that did the real harm, and thankfully, she had none of those to worry about.

The door was flung open as she turned from the sidewalk onto the little path that led to the Puckerman's front door, and she saw an elderly lady making her way out of the house towards her.

"There she is, Gladys, see!" Sarah's voice reached her ears, and Rachel saw the little girl's head peek out from behind the woman as she literally _pushed_ her out the door. "Now you can go back to your cats, and Rachel'll take over from here! Have fun now!"

"I hope you know what you're getting yourself in for," the older female, _Gladys_, commented, her eyes watching Rachel's every move like a hawk.

"Oh, of course," she replied easily with a bright smile. "I adore spending time with Sarah, she's simply a delight to be around; has a wonderful affect on people as I'm sure you know all too well."

The elder merely _hmphed_ at her words, and with one last determined shove, Sarah directed the woman to the patch of grass that separated their homes and the two watched Gladys toddle back across to her own house.

They both raised their hands in sequence and waved when the woman turned to fit them with a suspicious look, grumbling to herself as she turned back around to complete her short journey.

And before the door had even closed, Sarah had dissolved into a fit of giggles that spread contagious across to Rachel.

It was a rather unexpected turn, but soon she found herself chasing the seven-year-old across the front yard; their laughter filling the afternoon air as the sun beat down on them in a perfect backdrop to their joyous play.

After a while, when she noticed the pink tinge to the younger's cheeks and the skin of her arms blending from the thin sheet of red to a lovely caramel tone, she decided they should really go inside. It took her a solid five minutes to convince Sarah, who seemed more impressed that Rachel had managed to _talk_ her into entering the house, than the fact that she'd been protesting so much she nearly threw a tantrum. It might've had something to do with the difference in tactics from what she was used to, because apparently _Noah_ _usually just lifts me up by the ankles and carries me in – or throws me over his shoulder_. Evidently, Rachel did neither of these things, and used the good old-fashioned power of speech to achieve her goals.

She even managed to impress upon the youngster the importance of moisturizing daily, not just after a period under the intense heat of the sun's rays, at which time it was essential. Then they baked various treats; all containing a different form of wholesome goodness. She rationalized that chocolate released endorphins, and that an influx of 'happy feelings' could never be a bad thing for the household she was currently present in. And when Sarah decided that things were a little too _calm_ and running too much to their intended sequence, she decided that dousing Rachel with the remaining flour from the packet was an adequate solution.

This resulted in her chasing the little hellion – and she truly was one – around the small space and having an array of ingredients tossed back in her direction. Sarah didn't quite have the hand-eye coordination that her brother possessed, however, and missed her apparent intended targets quite often in a rather shocking display. Apparently she was more of a foot-eye-coordination kind of girl, as she so readily displayed when she kicked an egg and it landed directly on top of Rachel's head. Needless to say, she was not amused, although she did get her own back; when she smeared chocolate across the whole length of Sarah's face. It was worth it to see the little girl beaming up at her; before she attempted to lick it all off in a disgusting show of her blatant disregard for hygiene.

So she sent the seven-year-old upstairs to shower and clean herself up and set to work on the mammoth task of decontaminating the kitchen. When she heard the water stop running, and Sarah called down to her, she went upstairs to see to the younger and she was promptly laughed at.

"You should have a shower," the little girl said to her, her face the picture of amusement. "You can put your clothes in the washer and they'll be ready later; Noah won't be home for a while anyway."

"His room's beside it," the younger added; and sometimes Rachel thought she really was too smart for her own good, too intuitive, too wise beyond her years. "You can borrow some of his stuff."

"I'm sure he won't mind," Sarah said, and her voice was tilted with a tinge of amusement and _knowing_. Rachel eyed her as she smiled sweetly back at her in return. "I'd go for something from the dresser – the closet's his obvious place to stash things, so it's probably _unsanitary_."

The seven-year-old stuck out her tongue cheekily as she quoted the elder's words from earlier that day.

"You are far too cute to be annoyed at," Rachel told her at that, pursing her lips as she stared the other down, before turning and making her way towards the room the girl was motioning to.

"What's to get annoyed at?" Sarah called innocently after her. "I only speak the truth!"

.

"Would you like me to brush your hair out for you?" Rachel asked, watching the little girl struggle against the tangles that had formed in her shower.

Sarah turned at the sound of her voice, holding out the comb for her to take and turning back round to face the mirror. She settled on the bed beside the younger and began to tug the comb through the little girl's dark locks.

"My Mom used to do it for me," the seven-year-old told her then, and she stilled for a moment, unsure if she was overstepping some mark.

"I don't like her doing it anymore though," Sarah admitted quietly, and turned her head round to look at Rachel. "She got all sad the first time she did it when she came home from the hospital after they'd given her all that medicine. She was crying and she kept kissing my head and running her fingers through my hair."

"I don't think it can be good medicine, 'cos it doesn't seem to make her any better, but Noah said it's just all the chemicals and stuff, they mess with how she's feeling and stuff," the girl continued, and turned back to look in the mirror, her eyes on the elder's reflection. "Like, the first time she went in; she was sick all the time, and she was really pale, and she couldn't even share the ice cream Noah got me without chucking up everywhere."

"That was bad," Sarah said in a tone too grave for her years.

"Noah didn't let me go back after that," she revealed.

And she turned back round, her eyes locking onto Rachel's as she admitted in a whisper, "It did sort of freak me out."

"But she's been gone ages this time, and I haven't seen her in like _forever_," and Rachel could see the tears in her eyes before they even began to fall, could track them down the curve of her cheeks to the quivering of her bottom lip and the slight chattering of her teeth, as she admitted in a soft whimper, "And I miss my Mom."

Rachel couldn't have told you who reached out to who first; it was a molding of two people, as one, the moment they felt it. And they sat like that together for a short while: Sarah quietly crying into Rachel's chest, her tears spreading a damp spot on her brother's t–shirt; while the elder simply held her, rubbing circles on her back in a soothing motion.

When the seven-year-old eventually pulled away, detangling herself from Rachel's arms to wipe at her face, and rub away the moisture from there; she looked up at the elder with wide glassy eyes and almost pleaded with her as she asked, "You won't tell Noah about this, will you?"

"It's just, I don't wanna make him upset or anything," Sarah told her, with a slight shrug. "He's pretty awesome, I mean, looking about after me and everything – I don't want him thinking he's not doing a good job."

"He's doing a wonderful job," Rachel assured her, and the younger smiled back at her, palms smearing away the rest of the salty residue from her cheeks.

"But you know, you shouldn't feel like you can't tell him things like this, just because he's a _boy_, or you don't want him to get upset," she said. "He'd want to know if you were sad, so he could help."

"He does help," Sarah replied, her voice picking up as she smiled reassuringly at the elder. "And now I've got you, you can help too, right?"

"Of course," Rachel responded easily. "It's just – "

"No, you don't get it," the younger seemed to want to impress upon her then. "Noah does _everything_. Like he takes me places and helps me with my homework, an' feeds me and stuff. He does everything Mom used to do, but he's still my brother, and she's his Mom too."

"He's not dumb, he knows I want to see her," she informed the elder, quite matter-of-factly. "But he's doing what Mom would do, an' not letting me go. 'cos he knows no matter how upset I might be with _not_ seeing her, it's not the same as how bad I was that day I had to watch her puking her guts out while we watched _Finding Nemo_."

"That _was _pretty bad," Sarah reaffirmed, but this time a small smile cracked her lips apart. "Worse than when I went into the bathroom an' found Mom pulling clumps of her hair out. An' that was like something out of one of those horror films Noah watches."

"We got to wear wigs though," the seven-year-old livened up at the obvious recollection of the time gone by, and she turned fully to face Rachel then, lifting her legs up so she sat cross-legged on the bed. "Noah got them from your Glee club – they were really fun to play with. Mom got her old camera out and we did all these funny faces and then Noah an' me did a music video for Mom."

"That was the last time she was home," Sarah added, and then her face lit up with renewed excitement as she suddenly asked, "Hey, you wanna see them?"

And so for the next hour or so, the pair lay on Sarah's little bed pouring over the hilarious pictures of her and her brother and their Mom in ridiculous wigs and striking an array of comical poses. Then Sarah slipped the disk into the small TV-DVD setup she had (a gift she got at Hanukkah because, _look Sarah, this is like the Jewish equal for Santa, alright?_), and Rachel didn't think she'd ever be able to hear _Eye of the Tiger_ again without thinking of Puck and Sarah singing and acting out the lyrics to the background of their Mom's delighted laughter.

She also hoped Mr. Schu never tried to incorporate _hairography_ into their performance again, because she certainly wouldn't be able to look at Puck in a wig in the same way as before. Whereas at that time they had all looked amusing, and quite frankly, rather ridiculous: now she had a streaming video clip in her mind of him crawling around the floor acting like a wild animal as he leapt on his little sister and tickled her mercilessly, all the while keeping in perfect time to the music.

"You really do have an amazing little voice, you know," Rachel remarked. "And you're aware of how qualified I am in giving that opinion, because you've heard me sing, and I'm quite exceptional, so you can believe me when I compliment your singing abilities."

When she looked over at Sarah, curious why she'd been so quiet, she found the seven-year-old staring back at her with a raised eyebrow, and all the youngster had to say to that was, "Little?"

.

"Sarah?" he called out, the sound of his bag dropping to the floor and his voice traveling throughout most of the downstairs room with ease. "Where are you, kid?"

She was in her pajamas, her blanket wrapped around her like a cape, and she rubbed at her eyes tiredly as she ambled out of the adjoining room towards him.

"Hey No," she greeted him in a sleepy voice, and released a yawn a second later.

He hauled her up into his arms and she snuggled in closer to him almost on instinct. "Wanna tell me why Gladys's lights are all on next door an' I ain't hearing her yabbiting away at the TV?" he asked of her. "Who's here with you? An' I know it ain't Aunt Carol this time, 'cos she said she won't be able to make it back for at least another week."

She burrowed into him even further and said in a quiet voice, "I asked Rachel to come over."

He blinked slowly, as if processing exactly what that meant; for him, for her; how that changed things.

"You asked Rachel?" he repeated slowly, looking down at his little sister.

"To come over," she finished for him, and nodded her head. "Yeah."

"So, here I am!" Rachel announced her presence, opening her arms, and smiling at the pair; hoping to ease some of the tension or _whatever_ that had suddenly seeped into the room with a cheery attitude. She was a firm believer in facing situations head-on.

She dropped the dishtowel to the counter and then straightened the items lying discarded there, before she realized what she was doing. Her fingers brushed over a thin line of dust on the only photo frame that was in the hallway. And she was mesmerized; by the sight of Puck – _Noah_ – and Sarah, and their mom; captivated by how _happy_ they looked; entranced by the feeling that encompassed her heart.

"We had fun," Sarah told him in a quiet voice, her lips curving upwards around the thumb in her mouth, which she plucked out slowly to add, "Sure we did, Rachel."

The elder was broken from her reverie as the seven-year-old addressed her, and her head snapped up to meet the eyes of the two Puckerman's before her. The elder of the two was staring at her, and she suddenly realized what she was wearing: his t-shirt (_his very very favorite one_, as Sarah took great delight in pointing out, only _after _she'd had it on for a good hour or so, the troublemaker) and a pair of his boxers. Though in her defense, it was completely not her fault that she had a tinier waist than he did in all his muscled glory (did she really just say that? Yes, she did. Oh dear.) – and so needed to roll the band over of said _shorts_ multiple times; and now it most likely looked like she was wearing his t-shirt and nothing else and had been prancing around the house like that with his little sister. Oh God, he was going to rip her to shreds.

"Indeed we did," she agreed with a smile, shaking her head to clear her thoughts and allow her to fully involve herself in the moment before her. "We played outside for some time, it was really a lovely day – "

"I noticed," was all Puck said to that, and she realized that his skin had darkened just like his sister's had, just like her own had.

He made no comment on her attire.

"Well, I ensured we applied the correct lotion to keep our skin hydrated, you should really use some yourself if you were out in the midday heat," she told him off-handedly.

He simply nodded mutedly and she hoped his sudden fascination with staring at her was simply because her skin was glistening in the dim light and so was actually reaffirming her statement about the lotion; as opposed to him steadily building up a vat of anger towards her for not only interfering, but for somehow managing to work her way into his clothes.

That sounded wrong. So very, very wrong.

She needed to stop thinking.

And so she continued on the previous words she'd just spoken to try and divert her inner attention away from the thoughts of Noah Puckerman and any thoughts he might or might not have been having about her, in any sense.

"And then I managed to convince your sister that some nutritious snacks would be highly beneficial at that time and she succeeded in wrangling a baking session out of me."

"But don't worry, I cooked her a _proper meal_ afterwards, and we didn't leave a mess," she hastened to add; because it was very important to her that he knew she was responsible, although it did occur to her that he was most likely aware of that fact; but looking after his sister was quite an honor really. She knew how much he cared for her. And she wanted him to know that she cared about Sarah too; cared about him, too. And that she was responsible and would always endeavor to do her very best by the little girl and that he could _trust_ her. "I ensured everything was put away properly in its place once used, and that the surfaces were all wiped down with disinfectant and the floor scrubbed clean."

"Rachel made a mess," Sarah told him quite seriously then, although the wide grin spreading across her cheeks and lighting up her sleepy face gave her away all too easily.

"I did not!" Rachel responded with a mock gasp, indignation in her voice. "I think you will find, Noah Puckerman, that you are currently holding the _true _culprit in your grasp and that I was nothing more than an innocent bystander subjected to an intolerable cruelty by this girl."

The seven-year-old giggled and buried her head in her brother's shoulder.

"I'm pretty sure you could hold your own against her, Berry," was his response, and it took her a moment to realize he had a slight smile on his face.

Her heart swelled at the sight, because it might only have been a moment, and it might have passed in a matter of minutes, seconds even, but for that short space of time; it was Rachel Berry who helped make him feel, who helped make him forget, who helped make his life just that little bit better.

And she didn't think she'd felt anything as wonderful in quite a long time.

Not even when she'd been singing the solo on the stage earlier that day, in her one big moment.

Cue dramatic theatre gasp!

.

"Noah," she said gently, when it was just the two of them in the other room, Sarah on the couch in the adjacent room. "I had no idea."

"I'm so sorry," Rachel went on; and she meant it, every word. "If I had known – "

"You'd have what?" he prompted of her at that, and threw his gaze from where he'd been staring through the open doorway at his sister's form as she dozed off, to her.

He breathed in deeply and then exhaled slowly, as if calming himself; she had to admit, she was quite impressed with his self-control.

"Look, Berry, you've been really good to my little sister, to me, what-with looking after her an everything; but I don't want your pity, ok?"

"I'm handling this. So, I don't need you to come in here and shake things up because you feel bad for me or whatever, alright?" he said, and met her eyes; there was no hard edge like she was expecting, no steel in his voice. He was tired, she noted instead.

"Noah, that's not what I'm – " she tried to tell him gently.

He held up a hand, "And stop with the _Noah_, ok? I thought we'd covered this. We're not dating, and last time I checked I'd been shunted back to Puck, so let's just keep it like that, alright?"

"Alright," she conceded quietly. "If that's what you want."

"Yeah," he answered, in what seemed like a far-away voice; and when she blinked she saw him staring through the open doorway to where his sister had fallen asleep on the couch, the credits of the film they were supposed to be watching together rolling up the screen. "That's what I want."

And then without another word, he walked back into the room and over to where his sister lay. He scooped her up in his arms, and when she mumbled incoherently in her sleep and mildly attempted to protest against the jostling movements; she heard him murmur, "It's just me, go back to sleep, Sarah."

The little girl ceased her struggle within his arms, snuggling closer into him even, as her breathing evened out once more; and the whole scene just tugged at Rachel's heartstrings.

She leaned over as he went to pass to carefully place Sarah's teddy bear underneath the little girl's arm, before whispering her goodnight and affectionately sweeping her bangs across her forehead and away from her gently fluttering eyelashes.

"Thanks," he murmured at that, and she gave him a genuine smile in return, thinking it would speak to him more than anything she said would.

When he moved up the stairs to put his sister to bed, she busied herself for a few minutes with picking up the scatterings of belongings that had somehow found themselves in all parts of the room. She heard the dull mutterings of words being exchanged and then the low lilt of Puck's voice obviously persuading his sister back into the lands of slumber.

She took a seat on the sofa, and took a minute to rewind the film to the point she'd last viewed it at. A smile curved delicately at her lips as she waited for him to return and the soft lyrics floated through the open doorway from up the stairs.

She wasn't sure if he'd appreciate her still being there when he finished tucking his sister in, but she thought he might, at least, like the fact that he didn't have to go around collecting all of Sarah's things, so that they were all in one place for when she next demanded to know of their each and every location.

They weren't dating, he'd said so himself (not that she wasn't aware of that fact herself, but he had merely made it his point to reaffirm this with her) and she wasn't sure if he'd quite qualify their status as being that of friendship; but they were something, and that was infinitely better than nothing. Of that she was certain.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

A/N: In response to the review by TM – I apologise if it's confusing, but I used to get complaints that it was difficult to read when I bunched it all up, so I space it out now. I always try and add in cues for who is speaking though, so it's easier to follow, but I'm sorry if that actually makes it difficult.  
Next chapter picks up directly where this one ended and should be up by the end of the week/start of the w/e. It really just depends on the time I get to finish it 'cos I have an exam this week that I really have to study for haha and I can only put that off for so long in lieu of this, though it does test me ;)

Thanks so much for reading and please let me know what you think – it really means a lot to me!  
Steph  
xxx


	4. Well, Let The Drum Beat Drop

A/N: So this chapter came a little earlier than stated, but I couldn't wait any longer haha, the idea of studying was boring me too much. Should have another one up by the w/e hopefully Oh, an I forgot to add in the dedication in the last chap. I was writing the food fight scene and **iamladyliberty** requested a 'Domestic Goddess' moment, so hope that was sufficient for now  
And nearly 100 alerts :O *floored* Wow! Thanks :D

Hope you enjoy this next part…

* * *

Chapter Four: Well, Let The Drum Beat Drop

_"It's not meant to be like this_  
_Not what I planned at all_  
_I don't want to feel like this_  
_So that makes it all your fault."  
_'_**The Walk', Imogen Heap**_

.

"You're wearing my shirt," he stated, and his eyes dragged the length of her form in a way that made her far more self-conscious than she'd ever felt in her whole entire life; and really, she'd had plenty of opportunities to experience _that_ particular feeling.

She looked up to find him standing in the doorway watching her.

"Yes, I apologize," she jumped up from her place on the couch and tugged the garment down so as to cover what she'd just noticed was a large exposure of her skin at the top of her legs. Some people classed the skirts that were regularly part of her daily attire as 'short': but they obviously didn't own a measuring tape like she did, and therefore weren't aware that her skirt was actually _longer_ than those that the Cheerios wore, not to mention a lot less revealing. After all, their agenda was apparently 'to tease, not please' (oh yes, she remembered _that_ meeting alright). That shirt of hers (his) had ridden up higher than any article of clothing _she'd_ ever deemed appropriate for public viewing, and so she was swift to rectify it.

"_Why_ are you wearing my shirt?" was the next thing he said, eyebrow raised in perfect sync with his words.

"Oh!" she responded, feeling herself getting flustered and recounting her sequence of calming methods to stop herself getting carried away over nothing. "Well, after your sister all but attacked me with the remainder of our ingredients – she should really be grateful I'm as exceptional in the kitchen as I am or we'd have needed them to redo the batches we did make – I had to have a shower to clean off the flour and the egg and – "

"The egg?" he asked, and his lips quirked up in amusement.

"Yes, the egg," she repeated after him crossly.

And then realization seemed to overcome him and he remarked, "She used you as target practice for the goal and the egg was the soccer ball, right?"

"You've been on the receiving end of one of her attacks?" Rachel asked, raising her eyebrows at him at that.

"Where d'you think she learned to resort to those tactics?" he asked her in return, the corner of his mouth pulled up in a half-smirk as he added, "I have a mean throwing arm, Berry, or don't you remember?"

His eyes were practically _dancing_ with amusement, and she had to resist the urge to reply with: _yes, I'm well aware of that fact; and I recall with perfect clarity just how lovely your arms are_; because, honestly? Where on _earth_ did that thought even appear from? She blatantly ignored the knowledge based part of her brain that attempted to inform her that she knew fine well where the source of such a thought was, as well as the reason behind its emergence. Sometimes she got tired of having all the answers.

"You see," she exclaimed at that, the hands on the hips flying upwards in a display of disbelief as she drew herself up to full height. "It is that sort of brutish behavior that instills the need for retaliation in children such as Sarah. And you know, there's really no need for it. We were having quite the lovely time before she decided to sabotage it."

"Yeah, clearly," he quipped, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "That's why she had to _sabotage_ your playtime."

He must have noticed how she shifted slightly, because he tilted his head to the side and had that insanely smug look on his face and then he said, "You enjoyed it, didn't you?" in an irritatingly matching arrogant tone of voice as well. "The food fight, the chasing her round the place trying to keep her under control, you enjoyed it."

After a few moments of silence, she relented. "I will admit," she drew out slowly, "That it did have its moments of excitement. And hiding behind the counters trying to throw dried fruit at your little sister was rather amusing, yes."

"It was the egg that ruined it, wasn't it?" he surmised before she could say anything else, and he had that knowing look on his face; like he'd been there.

"Guess it's like the slushies, eh, Berry?" he added, and he ran his hand over his mostly-shaved scalp. "It pays not to have a big head of hair."

And with a flash of a smile he ducked out of her immediate vicinity and threw himself length-ways onto the sofa. The discarded dishcloths from earlier that night were easily within her grasp, she supposed, and those were the things that would do the least damage by far. She didn't utilize this little tidbit of information, however. Instead, she made her way back into the living-room, and stood over him for a few moments until he looked up and gave her some signal that he acknowledged her presence as still being, well, _present_.

"I was sitting there, you know," she remarked, and looked pointedly at where he was lying fully out across the whole spread of the couch. She was just lucky he was so tall and so his shoe-clad feet dangled off the end, rather than sunk into the cushions where they'd likely leave a mark that she would undoubtedly sit on, thus staining her garments. Though since the clothes adorning her body currently actually belonged to _him_, she supposed she shouldn't be too bothered.

When she just stared down at him, he blew out a sigh and rolled his eyes, huffing, "You're going to make me move so you can have your seat back, aren't you?"

He grudgingly swung his legs off the side and planted his feet on the floor, sitting up and leaving more than enough room for her to sit down next to him.

She awarded him a bright smile, "Thank you."

He grumbled something about the way he was being treated in his own home, but she just disregarded that and settled in to watch the rest of the film she'd been viewing prior to his arrival, which he'd conveniently started playing again while she was out of the room. He was really quite insufferable at times.

The silence between them was stifling to begin with, the sound of the characters on screen and the background accompaniment surrounding them, and yet they didn't seem to have really embraced each other's company just yet. Or maybe it was just their proximity to one another.

He bare leg brushed against his jeans and she realized exactly _how_ close they were to one another. He stiffened next to her, and she felt the sudden urge to speak and somehow dissolve the tension.

"Your shirt's very comfortable, you know," she told him amiably, and directed a soft smile over to him.

He shifted next to her, and she wasn't entirely sure her words had had the desired effect.

"It should be," he muttered at that, tearing his gaze away from where he'd glanced at her when she'd spoken, to look at the wall nearest the TV with apparent intense interest in whatever he could see there. She saw nothing. "I've worn it enough."

.

"So… " he spoke up after a long bout of silence had settled between them. "How was rehearsal?"

"A disaster," she replied simply, heaving a sigh.

"A disaster?" he repeated, slight incredulity in his voice, and he craned his neck to look over at her, an eyebrow raised as he watched her closely. "And you're not freaking out about this, why?"

"Oh, I assure you my response at the time was more than adequate," she turned to face him as she guaranteed him of the fact. "Finn confused his steps and crashed into Artie. Then when Tina suggested he apologize to Finn, he snapped back at her that he kept his apologies for those who deserved them. It sounded incredibly spiteful, and of course Tina was upset, but since she is more vocal than emotive; she cursed him ten-ways-from-Sunday and then stormed out."

"An' they all jus' let her go?" he asked; and she knew why, of course. No one followed _her_ because it was part of the performance; it would have a completely different dramatic effect if was to someone run after her. Tina, however, wasn't partial to the exercise in order for effect; so she supposed, it would seem rational that one of their peers would follow her. No one had.

"You're letting them steal your trademark, Berry," he remarked with an amused smirk, and a shake of the head. "You gotta at least get _something_ from them for letting them mack on your moves."

She pointedly ignored his comment and continued to recite the occurrences of earlier that day, "And then Finn got frustrated because he felt he couldn't perfect the steps, and of course, you weren't there, and by that point Tina wasn't either, and so Mr. Schu suggested we try one of our other numbers. And that only resulted in tensions rising further within the group, and eventually Kurt released a high note to silence everyone – which I'm certain was the high F, by the way. You know, the note he couldn't hit when we were competing for the lead solo of 'Defying Gravity'."

He made a dull noise of acknowledgment then.

"And so Mr. Schu sent us all home early," she finished, and turned to him with an expectant look.

"So why are you all calm about it now?" he queried, frowning in her direction.

"Well, because I displayed my thoughts on the matter to the group, ensuring they understood the magnitude of the whole debacle that had just occurred, naturally," she told him.

He rolled his eyes.

"And then afterwards, I realized that there was really no point in dwelling on it anymore. What was done was done. We can only move forward," she calmly informed him. "And I understood that there are more important things to consider in life."

"Oh, yeah," he seemed mildly interested as he cast her a glance at that. "Like what?"

She bit her lip, and for once actually felt quite nervous, "Well, like your Mom, for one. Like what's happening to her, and what you and your sister are going through."

"Oh _Hell_ no!" he bit out at that; standing in protest, head swiveling round to fit her with a furious look. "You are not using my Mom as an excuse for you to bitch out on the Gleeks an whoever else might happen to piss you off that day."

"That's not what I'm doing at all," she protested vehemently, because it really wasn't. All she meant by her statement was that it made her realize that there _were_ more important things than singing and dancing, like he'd said. However, it also strengthened her belief in their importance too, because she'd seen how his little sister was when given the chance to explore the creative outlet. And she knew that if it helped Sarah as much as she suspected it had, it could only serve to do the same for her brother.

"My Mom's sick, Berry," he told her then, and his eyes were ablaze, his words laced with anger. "But apart from being a glorified _babysitter_, I don't see how it really affects you."

"Because when she dies in like a month or two – three if we're _lucky_," he leaned down so he was looking directly into her eyes as he said it; and his looked hollow as she stared into them. "_I'll_ be the one left picking up the pieces, not you."

And with that he promptly tore himself from the room faster than she thought she'd ever seen him move besides on the sports field, and she cursed, for the first time in her life. Because that had gotten her one _hell_ of a reaction; and she hadn't even intended that one.

Now she just had to decipher a way in which to get through to him that what he was feeling was natural, that she – not even her, _anyone_ – could help him; that he could talk to her – them – that it might help.

That was all she was trying to do. Help.

.

"Come on, Berry, wake up," his voice reached her ears, and she felt large hands grip onto her shoulders and jostle her awake. "I gotta get you home before your dads pitch a fit and send the dogs out looking for you."

She groaned, and tried to swat away his hands, but he caught her hands in his, releasing a breathy laugh as he remarked disbelievingly, "That's right, fight me off."

She could hear the light chiding in his voice as well, and could see him rolling his eyes, even if her own remained tightly shut. She knew him well enough to know when he pulled out certain mannerisms.

Wait – what? Her eyes snapped open on that thought. She had just told herself she _knew_ Noah Puckerman. She needed her head checked out, and soon, because that was just – _no_, was what that was!

And now he was causing her to lose all forms of eloquence, wonderful.

"That's it," he said.

It was almost like he was talking to a child, Sarah even, his voice lower, more tender, caring even; and then, of course, he had to go and ruin it.

"Come on, Berry, stay awake for me here," he appealed to her. "I am not getting done for assault trying to dress you – an' you are _not_ going home in that get-up."

She was fairly certain her expression at that point must have formed a mix between a frown and a pout.

"No, seriously, wake up," he instructed her, his tone clearer, more pronounced; and she realized she must've been responding to his nicely-formed _request_, even if she wasn't fully aware of it at that exact moment, consequently because of her sleep-addled brain.

She was most definitely frowning by that point.

He thrust something into her hands and told her, "And put this on."

She felt the material graze against her palms and thumbed along the length of it in her dazed state, trying to determine exactly what it was.

He groaned when she was slow to do as he said, fiddling with the clips and the zipper on the side; and eventually took it in his own hands and said, "Right, step your right foot through it – that's it, and now your left."

Apparently it was her skirt. And it was washed and dried and ready to adorn her body once again.

"Jesus, Berry, at least make an effort to grab onto me instead of nearly toppling over," he rebuked her a mere moment later, when she tried blinking the sleep away (and apparently failed if what happened next was any indication) and promptly tripped over her own two feet, caught in the material of her skirt that she was yet to properly pull up to her waist, and fell forwards. _Luckily_ there was a pair of strong (lovely) arms to catch her.

She blamed her obvious preoccupation on the fact she was trying to process the thought of him redressing her.

"Alright, hold onto me an' I'll do it," he muttered, seeming very put out by this; though she wasn't entirely sure why. Wasn't he meant to be a _stud_? Didn't he sort of do this kind of thing all the time?

She stumbled, pitching forward and digging her nails into the skin of upper arms. He released a low hiss at the action and she smiled sleepily. Good, he deserved to suffer for what he was putting her though; she was only trying to help after all. Helping out her fellow Jew. He should be touched she was taking his words to heart, not… _put out_, the absolute oaf.

She released a giggle as that insult entered her _somewhat_ conscious thought and she lifted a hand from his shoulder to cover her mouth. Apparently it wasn't her wisest of moves

"An' Christ woman, stay standing will you? If my sister came down an' you were laying on the couch with me putting your skirt back on you, she'd think I was raping you or something – an' then I'd really be in the shit," he told her; apparently answering her previous query as to why he appeared quite inconvenienced by the task.

When she felt him adjust her skirt so it covered the appropriate – well almost – portion of her legs, she realized that he was finished. She looked down and frowned when she realized she was still wearing his t-shirt, tugging at the front of it and tilting her head to get a better view of what _exactly_ it read. For some reason, _completely _unbeknownst to her, she hadn't felt it prudent to check on such a fact earlier in the evening. Now, it seemed to be all she was interested in.

"Yeah, Berry, that's still my shirt you got on," he told her; obviously presuming she was trying to work out what she was wearing. She was, just not in the same way he thought she was. She knew perfectly well that the top she was currently dressed in belonged to him; that it was his favorite; that it smelled of him and –

Oh, that woke her up alright.

"_Jesus_," he let out when he finally managed to maneuver her out the door and into his truck. "What sort of _nutritional goodness_ d'you put in those cookies?"

She turned at his words and frowned at his insinuation that she had been anything but honest about the contents of the food she had made and presented to _his sister_ – and him! – to eat.

At the thought of Sarah she suddenly wondered if it was wise, or indeed safe, to leave the seven-year-old alone in the house. Then she remembered that Puck had some state-of-the-art, intense, _complicated_-looking security system in place in his home; apparently _that _was a priority. Oh, and that he'd locked the door like three times as well. She presumed he knew what he was doing. She trusted him; she had to, after all, he trusted her. Right?

"Whatever, Berry, don't give me that look," he broke her from her thoughts as he referred to her crinkled brow and the stab at her completely stellar culinary skills, and he started up the engine. "If I gotta deal with comatose _crazy_ from my sister when she wakes up in the morning, I'm coming after you."

.

"How long has your Mom been sick, Noah?" she asked quietly, cautiously.

She was almost scared to bring it up after his outburst earlier in the evening, but he seemed to have calmed down somewhat as she chanced a look over at him. Even to her own ears though, her voice sounded impossibly loud and imposing in the small space between them.

"What does it matter?" he returned, clearly trying for a nonchalance that he couldn't quite reach right then. "She got sick, an' now she's not getting any better."

"It matters, Noah," she told him simply.

She knew his aversion to her calling him by his given name, but she just couldn't bring herself to call him _Puck_ just then. Only a select few people called him Noah, it was a sign of closeness, a sign of where you were placed in his life; but she wasn't thinking of her standing in his world at that moment, she was thinking that the familiarity might bring him some comfort. She was thinking that the moment was too sacred to be shattered by some nickname everyone and their dog called him.

He rattled off a date like it was nothing, but she heard a hint of something in his voice that suggested it had been ingrained in his memory all along.

"That's when they told her what it was, that it wasn't just some _twenty-four hour thing_," he said. "That she had six months to live, if she was _lucky_, if all that crap they pumped into her over and over had some effect."

She was watching him, her heart breaking for the boy before her and the little girl left behind. She couldn't tear her eyes away as the words spilled from his lips; like a secret only they knew.

And then added, almost as an afterthought, "And that's when I slept with Quinn."

"We were at the same party and somehow it ended up just me and her in this room. She kept going on about how she'd put on weight or some shit and how she was gonna be kicked off the squad," he recounted to her, and her eyes were fixed on the way his hands were wringing the steering wheel, the way his face was screwed up in confusion and _hurt_. "And all I could think was: you're hot, and you've got like everything going for you, and you're not _dying_."

She was still entranced: despite the content, maybe _because of_ the content.

"So, I kissed her," he said it so matter-of-factly, and then he turned to look at her; and she could tell none of it was intended as a malicious stab at her or what she thought she knew, he was reaching out to her; she could see it, even if he couldn't. "And it shut her up, and made her feel better, so I didn't stop. And, after a while, it started to make me feel better too."

His gaze was intensely focused on the road ahead, and he sounded almost like he wanted to laugh mockingly at the whole situation.

A brief mirthless laugh did escape his lips then as he said, "Of course, then we both woke up, and she started to freak out, and then everything pretty much went to shit."

They were both silent for the remaining minutes that it took him to reach her house, stopping at the curb at the front. Awkwardness surrounded them both as he brought the truck to a stop, and then she reached over and put her hand on his, and murmured, "_Thank you_" in the space between them.

He stiffened beneath her grasp, and then with a very deliberate action, he pulled his hand out from under hers and turned the engine off.

"You called me Noah again," and he was looking out his driver-side window as he said it, staring into the abyss that surrounded them outside of the little cocoon they currently shared. "You're really gonna have to stop doing that."

"Why?" she queried, and then tried to lighten the mood a little by adding, somewhat teasingly, "Because then you'll appear less intimidating to the student body if referred to by the name your mother gave you?"

"No," he contradicted, and reached over her to flick the lock on her door so she could get out. "Because then I'll start thinking you care."

_**TBC…**_

* * *

A/N: **TM** – thanks for pointing it out, and sorry it is confusing; obviously it wouldn't be if I did it correctly, so I'm trying to change parts so they're right – or at least, not *so* blatantly wrong. If that's possible. I'm not sure it is :S Though I am seeking help from multiple sources to aid me in this endeavour – if that's any consolation. It probably isn't. Glad you like the fic though, apart from that  
Ooh, also, should probably throw in a note about the timeline. Puck's mum's was diagnosed the day he slept with Quinn, so she's been sick the entire length of the series, basically. And to address Sarah's comment in the last chapter about not having seen her in so long – she's been in hospital getting treatment for the Cancer and then getting treatment for other infections and such that have pretty much crippled her because of how weak her immune system is. And I haven't decided how long that's been, because I'm not sure it *really* matters – it's too long, in the eyes and mind of a seven-year-old anyway – but it was probably in between _Hairography_ and _Sectionals _or maybe just after _Sectionals_, since I haven't really specified a time when this started lol

Anyway, thank you all so much for reading and reviewing/alerting/favouriting – it really means a lot! Please let me know what you thought :)  
Steph  
xxx


	5. You Are Not A Robot

A/N: Ok, so I've decided to change a few things in past chapters to make them fit better with the timeline. Nothing major, just 'Regionals' is now 'Nationals'. I'm not going to add in the Quinn/baby storyline into this – it'll be mentioned, but not explored – which is why I tweaked a few things, and I'm just saying that this fic all started after Quinn had the baby. Hope that's alright – sorry if you were looking forward to some babygate.

Hope you enjoy…

* * *

Chapter Five: You Are Not A Robot

"_Stop that now.  
You're as close as it gets  
Without touching me.  
Oh now don't make it harder  
Than it already is.  
I feel a weakness coming on."  
_**_'The Walk', Imogen Heap_**

.

He'd been avoiding her, _again_. And so she decided to put a stop to it before it got any further. She cornered him after Glee rehearsal – she didn't like how that was becoming a pattern – and with her hands on her hips, stared up at him, until he met her eyes.

"You owe me a rehearsal," she told him succinctly.

"What?" he asked; he screwed up his face as if he was trying to work out what she was saying to him and then ran a hand over it.

"You're tired," she stated, identifying the weary look in his eyes instantly. "But you still owe me an extra rehearsal."

He titled his head to look at her, his arm falling to his side.

"Get some sleep tonight," she instructed, her tone resolute. "We're doing it tomorrow and I need to ensure you are well-rested so you don't strain yourself or overexert your body or voice in any way."

"Fine," he relented after a few moments, throwing a quick scowl at her. "But after school. I'll pick Sarah up and come back so we can use the stage or whatever."

He raised his eyebrows at her, and the corner of his mouth tweaked upwards as he leaned forward towards her satisfied expression.

"That good enough for you, Berry?" he asked.

"Quite," she told him in return, with a smile, and then turned on her heel and flounced off.

She heard him sigh and caught sight of him shaking his head; by the time she'd rounded the corner out of the room, his mouth was still caught in a half-smile, so she took that to mean she was making progress.

.

He released a strangled scream and in frustration, kicked over a small stepladder that was sitting nearby.

Sarah's laughter could still be heard from the other side of the stage, where she was positioned high up on a stool; giving her an exceptional viewpoint for the performance.

"Sarah, give it a rest, would ya?" he asked in a low growl, casting a quick glare across to her. He sighed, "Jus' play your Nintendo or something."

The girl watched her brother closely for the minute that followed and then grudgingly reached into her backpack and plucked out the handheld console. Rachel didn't bear thought to where the seven-year-old acquired all her trinkets: she wasn't naïve enough to thing Puck had attained them through legal monetary channels like a _normal person_ would; but she knew his intentions were true, even if his actions weren't wholly honest. He only ever wanted what was best for his sister, and if stealing an electronic game station would squash any thought of her disadvantaged status against the other children her age then he would do it in a heartbeat. She supposed she could see his logic; even if it was a little skewed.

When he saw his sister was adequately occupied he turned back to Rachel, running an exasperated hand over his Mohawk, his face tight with emotion.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said then. "I know how important this is to you, an I'm messing it all up."

"You're not _messing it all up_," she countered easily, her face brightening as her voice did. "You just need a little more practice."

He let out a weary sigh, "I'm beat. Think we could have a break?"

When she didn't respond straight away, he felt it prudent to assure her, "I only need a few minutes, 'get my head together. I'm all over the place right now."

"Oh, of course!" she complied easily.

He started moving away and she fell into step with him as they walked towards the seats near the back of the stage.

"That's perfectly understandable, you know," she told him confidently, looking up at him. "You are going through an exceptionally emotional experience right now, and it's only natural for you to be preoccupied with that."

"Right," he muttered, and she didn't miss the sardonic twang in the words. "Preoccupied."

"The others would understand too, of course," she added then, almost cautiously. "If you told them."

He sent her a sideways glance, the line of his jaw becoming ever more prominent as the look on his face told her that that _wouldn't_ be happening anytime soon. Though she suspected he had a fair few of his own words added into the consideration of that idea that she would undoubtedly disapprove of. Implementing profanity in everyday speech merely displayed a lack of vocabulary. She was well aware that he possessed a word-bank that was more than adequate to sustain flowing conversation with her; which was one of the main reasons she frowned upon it as she did. She also just didn't particularly see its appeal. (Although her little outburst the other night when he'd stormed away from her and left her sitting alone on that couch, where she'd then fallen asleep, _was_ somewhat liberating. Though she'd never admit as such to anyone. Obviously.)

"Oh, I won't say a thing!" she hastened to reassure him at that, because she knew what must've been going through his mind as a byproduct of her previous statement.

Her eyes were wide as they beseeched him to listen to her appeal.

"I realize that you might not believe me because of my unfortunate track-record, what-with me being the one that informed Finn about you and Quinn and the baby – "

"No need to remind me, Berry, I remember," he remarked at that.

She bristled slightly and continued, "But this is a new year, and as you suggested, a time for reorganizing priorities; which I have done."

"Still vying for Nationals above all else?" he prompted of her then.

"Well, of course," she answered, her smile dimming somewhat under the instant dashing of her well-intended speech. "It would be completely ill-advised to throw away such a dream as the one we've all strived so hard to convert to reality, not to mention – "

"Then still the same old Berry," he cut her off; but there was a glint in his eye that took away any hard edge that might've been in his tone.

"I mean what I say, you know," she informed him at that, _as if he didn't know that, already_. "And I promise you that I won't tell anyone about what is happening in your life."

She expected him to mutter a _good_ and then stalk away from her, but he didn't. And she realized then that there was still so much she had to learn about this boy; he never failed to surprise her. It was quite refreshing, really.

"Oh, I know you won't," he told her instead, and there was a curious tweak of his lips and a strange confidence in his voice.

Her brow furrowed in confusion and he seemed to enjoy his moment of superiority over her; being the one to inform _her_ of what was happening, rather than the other way round. She had to admit, she rather enjoyed the switch of power; and it _was_ quite exhilarating to watch him take charge of a matter and exert his assertiveness. Oh dear, this was beginning to sound quite dirty; she stopped her thoughts dead in their tracks – she was quite adept that way, well, _most_ of the time – and concentrated on what he had just said.

"You play a central role in this one," he remarked, and there was no malice or accusation in his voice, just simple fact. "What affects me, affects my sister. And you care about my sister, so whatever affects her affects you too."

He was wrong of course; in his self-assured confidence that what he was telling her was right. What affected him affected her as well, because she cared about him too.

Oh God, she cared about Noah Puckerman.

The worst thing about it, too, was that that wasn't the first time she'd realized it. She'd just been trying not to fully acknowledge it as truth before. Except now it appeared she had no choice in the matter.

"Come on, Berry," his announcement shook her from her thoughts; though it certainly didn't help her much as his large hand wrapped round her small wrist and he tugged her up off her seat and towards where he was standing. "That's enough talk for one day."

And then in a surprising, but not exactly unwelcome, turn of events: he wrapped an arm around her waist, his hand grabbing hold of hers, and he danced with her for a moment. Then he dipped her low, before swooping her back into his arms once more. She watched fascinated as the low rumble of his chuckle swept from the base of his throat to reach the cave of his mouth and escape through the small parting of his lips, to play lyrically against the shell of her ear.

"Come on," he repeated, rolling his eyes at her, amusement lilting his words. He released her from his hold, taking a step back and watching her in anticipation of her next move; their _first_ move. "I wanna get these dance steps down."

.

"Oh, hey guys!" Mike's voice traveled through the auditorium. "We didn't realize you were in here."

Only two sets of eyes looked over to see the teenager striding towards them, taking the steps two-at-a-time when he reached the stage.

He stopped beside Sarah, who was sitting on the stool seemingly engrossed in her video game; his mouth falling easily into a grin as he exclaimed, "Oh, wow, you brought – "

The girl's game was abandoned, and her hand flew up to cover Mike's mouth so fast that no one could really prepare themselves for a reaction, or utilize a prevention method.

"Don't say it," Sarah warned, and she glared up at him.

He mumbled something incoherent beneath his clamped mouth, and it was then that Rachel decided it might be prudent for her to cut in. So she did.

"I think what Sarah is trying to tell you, is that she would greatly appreciate it if you refrained from referring to her as 'Little Puck' or 'Girl Puck' or any other such variation. She finds it demeaning and offensive," Rachel informed him.

"Yeah!" Sarah piped up then, her free hand positioned precisely on her hip; this made Rachel smile. Oh, she'd taught her well. "First off – I'm seven, so _of course_ I'm small. Also, I'm a _girl_, and that sort of thing just isn't appealing to me."

Rachel caught Puck looking over at her, watching her closely and she knew he was aware that this was her doing; well, for the most part. Neither of them were naïve enough to think his sister could be influenced entirely.

"And my name's _Sarah_, by the way," the seven-year-old continued her tirade. "I deserve to be treated as separate from my brother, although he is pretty awesome, but still – I should be allowed to carve my own path in life 'gardless of how people like _you_ might corr- … make us seem like we're the same."

Rachel was positively _beaming_ by the end of Sarah's speech. She turned to Puck and found he was just looking at her like she had two heads or what she imagined was something equally ridiculous, if she was perfectly honest. When she returned her gaze to Mike, she saw he had a look in his eyes that seemed mightily suspicious. He opened his mouth that morsel further; only to be abruptly stopped before he could act on whatever was going through his mind at that point.

The swift-moving, fast-talking seven-year-old broke in with, "And if you even _think_ about licking my hand while it's over your mouth, I'll kick you so hard in the – "

"She'll infuse excruciating pain and undoubtedly cause grievous damage to your nether regions," Rachel interrupted, and sent a sweet smile at Mike then before returning her attention back to Puck.

She'd barely had her back turned a minute when she heard an _oomph_ and then a groan, and she swiveled her gaze from his instant wide-eyed, open-mouthed laughter, to find Mike's crumpled form lying a few feet away from her on the stage.

She raised an eyebrow and cast an expectant look over to Sarah.

The seven-year-old merely shrugged, and told the elder, "He thought it."

Her brother's laughter grew and he beckoned Sarah over with, "Come here an give me a high-five, sis."

She practically _skipped_ across the short distance between them at his words.

And his eyes shone with devilish delight, as he placed a hand on the back of her head and pulled her in for a quick hug, marveling, "Who knew you had the potential to be such a badass?"

"I think you forget whose sister she is," Rachel remarked with a smile directed at the siblings.

He grinned down at Sarah when she twisted her head to look up at him, his arms tightly encircling her, and whispered fiercely, "Never."

.

"Oh, Sarah!" Mr. Schu announced on seeing her; a bright smile spread across her face. "Just the girl I wanted to see."

He strode across to where she was lounging casually near Puck and Rachel and produced a small instrument to her.

"You can play it for us," he said cheerfully.

"_No way_," she instantly responded, as she eyed the object distastefully, "am I playing the triangle. That's a boring job, give it to Quinn."

The blonde shot a quick glare at the youngster.

"I'm on the cymbals," Sarah informed them all with a confident smirk, and Quinn rolled her eyes.

"You are?" it was Finn who asked this, as he stood by the drums _he_ played.

"Yeah, I am," the seven-year-old told him shortly.

The ex-Cheerio's expression soon changed to mild amusement at how adamant the girl was on the matter.

"But can you even hold them? And d'you know how to use them?" the tall boy queried then; and he did make a point that was somewhat relevant. Sarah _was_ on the small side; not that Rachel discriminated, because while she herself knew that she was of perfectly average height, her peers considered her to be _short_ (she preferred the term _petite_ in these situations). And the cymbals were _heavy_.

Sarah frowned up at him like that was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard and heaved a sigh like she was disappointed in his response, before saying, "I'd have thought you knew by now, Finn."

The boy's brow crinkled in confusion as he looked at the seven-year-old, apparently willing her to include him in whatever it was that she knew and he didn't.

"I'm a badass," Sarah told him, completely matter-of-factly. "I can do anything."

Quinn released a laugh then, her mildly amused expression apparently already having transformed into one of vivid entertainment at the seven-year-old's display.

And there was no doubt about it: Sarah possessed that often-spoken-of, highly-valued Puckerman charm – and she knew how to use it too.

.

"Finn," she announced when she sidled up next to him at his locker the next day.

"Oh, hey Rachel," he turned to face her and slowly smiled down at her.

"I think you should talk to Puck," was her instant reponse.

"What?" Finn screwed up his face in confusion and he appeared to be trying to discover her angle. She didn't have one; she assured him.

He looked at her like he was still trying to work out what she was doing.

"I do talk to him," he told her then. "Like yesterday, when we were at rehearsal, I talked to him then."

She heaved a sigh, and gave him a pointed look.

"That's not what I meant, Finn," she told him. "As I'm sure you're well aware."

He ducked his head, and she smiled triumphantly.

"He's still your best friend, Finn," she assured, her voice dropping to a softer tone. "Even if you might not think he is. He still cares about you."

"Rachel, he slept with Quinn," he said then, as if he felt the need to remind her of this _glaringly obvious_ fact; he needn't have bothered.

When the ex-cheerleader's baby-bump had protruded so much that a person would be lucky to go a day without catching sight of her, never mind a few hours, she needed to be excused to go to the bathroom. She needed to be excused an _excess_ number of times, because the baby was _pressing so hard into my bladder I thought I might actually burst_. And Rachel had happened to be the one assigned to accompany her on said trips. Apparently Figgins had heard of Quinn's fall in Glee that time _oh so long ago_ and had decided someone was to escort her at all times lest she happen to trip or fall or do _anything_ on school grounds that resulted in harm to herself or the baby. It was all with the intention of avoiding being sued for malpractice, or some other such equally damaging suit that could be filed against a school that had still yet to get the priorities of its finances in order. That fact alone had been (and still was) unacceptable in Rachel's opinion (she might've seen the papers pertaining to the school budget after sneaking into the secretary's filing cabinet in a rage because of the Cheerios expenditure and the Glee fund, which basically amounted to _zilch_). It had usually been during class time when that duty of care to the former Cheerio seemed to fall to Rachel. She supposed it made sense given the number of classes they actually shared (they were both _really_ smart, in case you weren't aware) but _still_ – she had (and still did) thanked the fact that they were both highly intellectual individuals; otherwise they'd never manage to balance their school load with these multiple bathroom excursions.

"Yes, Finn, I'm well aware of that," she assured him, ensuring to keep her voice level, her tone soft, with only a _hint_ of an edge. "But I know he deeply regrets his actions, as does she; and that the whole affair wouldn't still be hurting you so much if you didn't love them so much."

"I know that but – " he tried to break in with a protest, but she quelled his attempts with more words of her own.

"Not to mention," she told him, in a sickly sweet voice. "If you can find it in your heart to forgive Quinn, I'm sure there's room in there for you to do the same for Puck."

Finn blinked at her, and she felt a self-satisfied smile cross her lips when she finished that last line.

She took a breath in and placed a warm hand on his forearm as she looked into his eyes and beseeched him, "People make mistakes, Finn. What makes us better than the rest is our ability to forgive them these mistakes. Don't forget that."

And with that she turned on her heel and practically _skipped_ away; she didn't, of course, although she truly could have: she, Rachel Berry, was a deviant genius!

.

She _knew_ she shouldn't be getting involved, and going to Finn like that might have been considered a completely unforgivable move; but she couldn't help it, she had to do something to help him.

Besides Puck deserved to have Finn's friendship. Ok, so he might not have _exactly_ showcased his actions to that effect _lately_, but he deserved it once. After all, the boys had been friends for years, he must've done _something_ within that time to capture and manage to maintain his status as _best friend_ of Finn Hudson. She was resolute; her tactics might have not been the most appropriate (that was the only thing she would award him, because she was adamant in her decision) but a confrontation between the two – one where they preferably _didn't_ merely bite each other's heads off in what would quickly transform into a shouting war that inevitably led to their fists becoming involved (but she had a counter-plan if there was a repeat occurrence) – was definitely needed.

If she could get Finn to talk to Puck, then maybe he'd start to realize that there were those around him who actually wanted to help him; who would put aside their own feelings to ensure his were dealt with; who would _be there_ for him.

When she skipped out into the parking lot later that day, she saw the two of them leaning against the side of Puck's truck, and her face instantly lit up.

She began to walk towards them, her optimism leading her in a quick steady pace, and he was the first to turn when he saw her heading in their direction. He smirked at her, and her face instantly fell in small frown when she saw the dark bruising that spread over his temple, the bloody cut on his eyebrow. Finn had a black eye, she noted, as he faced her as well; and that made her feel slightly better. Violence always seemed to be function somewhere in their friendship; she supposed she'd just have to accept that. The main point to note was that they were _talking_ again, and they actually seemed to be enjoying one another's company once more. And that warmed her heart, it really did.

"Alright, Berry," Puck greeted her, and there was a knowing glint in his eyes as he spoke; but his voice was free of any malice she might've expected if he knew she'd been meddling in his affairs again. "That all your good deeds done for the day?"

"For the school day, yes, as a matter of fact it is," she told him, and took a step towards him.

He opened the door for her and she slid inside his truck with a soft smile in his direction and a quiet, "Thank you."

The window was down and when he slammed her door shut, he rested his arms on the ledge for a moment, watching her.

"Although I'm sure I will be displaying more in the way of my charitable acts this evening, yes?" she continued, hazarding a guess that that was what he was venturing towards with his attentive gaze and expectant expression.

"Disney night," he informed her with a flash of a grin. "Hannah Montana. Sarah's been goin' on about it since last night, an' I don't plan on having to sit through _The Best of Both Worlds _ever again."

She rolled her eyes at him as he threw her a smirk, knowing her silence was agreement enough.

"An' there is no way that chick is sixteen," he remarked then with a shake of the head.

"Seventeen now," she corrected absentmindedly. "Fourteen at the beginning of filming the cinematic feature of her tour, fifteen after the first month or so."

His eyebrow shot up in silent question, his eyes widening at this apparently new piece of information.

She met his eyes and shrugged, simply replying, "Your sister has taken a shining to the Disney starlet."

"Tell me about it," he muttered with a roll of the eyes.

"And I like to research the interests of others so I am well prepared in order to properly converse with them on their specific topic of choice," she told him, undeterred by the uninterested tone of his previous comment.

"Of course you do," he remarked, as if he should've expected this, but his lips curled up at the edges as he said it in a way that suggested he was more amused by it than anything else. It was sort of nice, the feeling that evoked within her.

And then he threw a hand up to Finn in farewell and walked round to the driver's side and slid into his seat.

"So?" he turned to her, eyes bright with possibility and smirking like the devil, as he flicked the engine on. "Home?"

She nodded, and directed her eyes to the road as he did the same, echoing his choice, "Home."

It was strange how natural that sounded.

She took a liking to it instantly.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

A/N: The nod at F/Q was added for Nat & Christie and anyone else on the board who likes to remind me that _sugar goes with spice_ lol

Thanks so much for reading, please let me know your thoughts!  
Steph  
xxx


	6. Who You Never Really Liked And You Never

A/N: I write from Rachel's pov in this, so when things seem to go off on a tangent it is generally because these should be interpreted as her thoughts and such. This also relates to the dialogue. Sometimes it might seem like I've made spelling mistakes or it doesn't quite 'read right'; *most* of the time it'll be intentional (I say 'most' because I'm bound to make *actual* spelling mistakes where I didn't mean to ;) ) I write what I hear the characters in my head saying (that makes me sound like I'm some sort of schizo, I'm not) and *how* I hear them saying it. I try keep it quite natural and in correspondence with something you might actually hear people saying, because real-life conversations generally aren't stilted and people do cut off letters and words when they speak. So, basically, apologies if this makes it difficult to read or you don't think it fits, but that's just how I roll ;)

And this one's extra long, so hope it makes up for the added wait between it and the last one :)

* * *

Chapter Six: Who You Never Really Liked And You Never Trusted

_To be trusted is a greater compliment than to be loved.  
_**_George MacDonald_**

.

She saw the man staring at them from across the street when they were at the front doors. The fact that she could still make out his form; even if it _was_ quite a distance away, was starting to worry her.

Apparently Sarah noticed, because she crinkled her brow when she looked up at the elder, and then seemed to follow her gaze.

"Just ignore him," the seven-year-old said then, and proceeded to swing her arm just as high as she walked hand-in-hand with Rachel along the street. "I do."

"He won't do anything," the girl assured her, apparently unperturbed by the danger Rachel herself was having appear in flashes in her mind; possible scenarios that could have happened, that could _still_ happen. "He's always there when school lets out, and then he hangs back for a bit and watches me as I start to walk home; but he never really _does_ anything. Just sort of watches."

"It's really creepy," Sarah commented, as if she was just making a passing statement about some insignificant matter and not the fact that _a stranger was watching her and following her home, __**every day**__._

"But he's prob'ly harmless," she continued, in the same voice.

"I mean, the first time No saw him he ran at him like he does those guys he plays football against – an' that was pretty scary. But he's still here; he wasn't for a few days after Noah hit him, but then he came back, and if he really was all bad, Noah would've made sure he stayed gone," Sarah told her; before Rachel could even form an appropriate response to any of what the child was telling her.

"While I agree with the majority of your thinking and the logic behind it, I don't consider it acceptable for a man you don't know to be staring at you like that, nor do I think it is at all appropriate that he is allowed to follow you on your route home from school, or at any other time for that matter," Rachel replied, her very serious tone matching her equally serious facial expression as she looked down at the younger and tried to impress upon her just _how_ serious the matter was.

"Yeah, but I don't walk home no more, so it doesn't really matter," the girl told her, like that completely solved any problem that might've existed; though it quite notably _didn't_ exist in Sarah's world, as Rachel was finding out, much to her horror.

"Then what are we doing just now?" the elder asked; because she was definitely accompanying the younger back home, and they were undeniably using their lower limbs in a form of travel known as _walking_.

"Yeah, but it's diff'rent; you're with me just now," Sarah hastened to explain; and Rachel realized she was going to be subjected to the sort of logic that only worked in the mind of a child. "So we're walking home now, but I don't normally. Noah normally picks me up. I don't walk, and the man's not there."

The elder was still uncertain, and she was sure it projected through the look she was giving the younger; even if the seven-year-old was blatantly choosing to ignore it.

"See?" the girl questioned, her eyebrows lifting. "So it really doesn't matter."

"I'm going to go have a word with him," Rachel said decisively at that, and she turned on her heel and began to march over to the man's position.

"No, Rachel, don't!" Sarah shouted after her, but she continued on unperturbed.

The unidentified male stilled, and appeared to look uncertain for a moment before he started to backtrack in his steps. And that was when a familiar truck pulled up by the curb and the window rolled down to reveal Puck's face, his expression a swirl of emotions.

He had an eyebrow raised at her, though his features were torn in a mix of bored anticipation and an underlying anger that he displayed by the tautness of his jaw, his eyes fixed on her. "What are you doing, Berry?"

"Puck," she acknowledged with a single nod, and turned back to fulfill her intended _mission._

"Get in the truck, Berry," his voice called to her. "Or do you want to add being kidnapped and raped to your list of high school achievements?"

She stopped and turned back to glare at him then, and decided to set him straight, because he was just so _full of it_ sometimes. He could rile her so completely with just a simple set of words; it was unacceptable, and she wanted it to just _stop_ already.

"I'm doing what you should've done a long time ago," she informed him tartly. "I'm going to go and tell that _man_ over there – the one who apparently stands outside your little sister's school and watches her and follows her on her walk home – that what he is doing is _wrong_, and that it won't be tolerated."

"And then I'm going to call the police!" she finished in a dramatic flourish that accompanied the perfect sequence of the turn of her heel in preparation for striding away.

"I swear to _God_, Berry, if you don't get in the car _right now_ – "

She stopped then, exactly where she was: her feet pivoted to complete the turn she had intended to make, her body mid-swivel; and after a few short moments she turned back to face him. His eyes flashed with anger, his jaw straining from the clenching of his teeth, and she saw something in him then that she didn't think she'd ever seen: he was genuinely scared for her.

And so she nodded and conceded to his demand with an, "Alright."

"But we are discussing this at length when we reach a more appropriate location and your sister is not within earshot, understood?" she told him, in her no-nonsense tone that apparently really did instill a policy of _no-nonsense_ to follow it; or so she'd been led to believe by Sarah's change in behavior after said tone being utilized.

"Fine, whatever, just budge over so Sarah can get in," he told her in response, and flipped his eyes so they were staring ahead, and she could tell he was irritated. She didn't care – ok, so that wasn't _entirely_ true, but still; she had a better reason to be irritated at _him_. At least she thought so just then, while his own motivations remained ever elusive and kept hidden away within him.

When the seven-year-old leapt into the truck next to her, Rachel was met with a sharp fist to her arm before the girl had even settled into her seat.

She gasped, her opposite hand rising instinctively to rub the site of injury, and she turned her open-mouthed astonishment to the boy next to her and then back to the girl on her other side, before she let out, "Ow!"

Sarah pulled the door closed and snapped her belt into place, before telling Rachel, "That's for leaving me on the sidewalk by myself."

"It thought you had a policy against hitting girls," Rachel bemoaned her pain to Puck, who had said nothing of his little sister's attack on her mere moments prior.

"I do. When we're talking about guys," he told her with a smirk. "It doesn't extend to girl-on girl action."

"Besides, you did sort of deserve it," he added, with a half-shrug, and he'd already started driving away. "You left her by herself on the curb."

She stared back at him at that.

"That's a pretty shitty move for someone who's supposed to be looking after her," he rebuked her; but there was light teasing in his tone. "I'd leave that habit out when you go for your next babysitting job. Don't think people look too highly on their kid's carer jus' abandoning them like that."

"I didn't abandon – " she started to protest, but he cut her off.

"She's not really a fan of being abandoned," he remarked; and there was something biting in his tone as he said that. Don't go presuming she didn't catch the way his jaw twitched as the words left his mouth either; she was all about the matter at hand, but that included doing reconnaissance. Puck wasn't as subtle as he liked to think, at least not to her trained-eyes he wasn't; but that might not have been his fault so much as a sign that she was prying to the appropriate level that could be deemed acceptable (she'd actually calculated exactly how far it was between the lines of _dismissive _and _take a __**huge**__ step back because you are __**really **__overstepping the mark here,_ but the exact sum wasn't required for her subconscious to remain on active alert of crossing it).

"Yeah!" Sarah jumped in at that, reiterating in case Rachel hadn't gotten the point from her brother voicing it. "You left me by myself, right there on the curb!"

"Alright, munchkin, can it," Puck rolled his eyes at her, and then sent her a quick look. "If you keep up the '_I hate Rachel_' mood she's not gonna let us in the house, and we're nearly there already, so that'd majorly suck."

"We're going to my house?" Rachel asked then.

"Yeah… " he trailed off, and lifted a hand from the steering wheel to scratch at his Mohawk.

"Puck, two hands on the wheel," was her instantaneous response to that action.

"Right," he muttered, distractedly, before doing as she'd said. "An yeah, your house. My Aunt arrives today; bit psycho, absolute gypo, an' – "

"_Pardon_?" she enunciated the single word exceptionally well, in her opinion; it got his immediate attention at least (though she _was_ forced to near-screech _Puck! Eyes on the road!_ – However, that was but a minor detail in the overall effectiveness of her ploy, of course).

"She lives in a freakin' caravan!" Sarah exclaimed at that; as if that gave reason to such a derogatory comment to be used in reference to the woman, by her _family_ no less.

"Yeah, what the sister said," he agreed, giving her a half-shrug as the corner of his lip twisted upwards. "She's probably where Sarah gets her bat-shit-crazy from."

"I'm not crazy," the seven-year-old disputed. "And you cussed _again_."

Her brother raised an eyebrow at her and sent her a sideways glance that clearly told her he thought otherwise on the first matter, and that he didn't really care on the second.

"You're a maniac," Sarah threw back at him and he rolled his eyes, muttering a _right, good one_ under his breath.

"Well, here we are!" Rachel announced brightly, as her house came into their immediate view and the truck pulled off the road and into her driveway. "My Dads won't be home for a while – they both scheduled their meetings to run late tonight so we could spend time together another night – "

"You got _two _Dads?" Sarah cut in at that, eyes wide and staring at Rachel.

"Yes," the elder told her with a large smile. "My fathers chose a wonderful, smart, beautiful lady to be my mother and they created me out of love."

"Wow," the seven-year-old breathed out then.

Her eyes were still like saucers, too big for her small face; and it was unclear if she'd actually processed the part _after _Rachel had confirmed the fact or if she was too engrossed in the affirmation itself to really listen.

"I don't even have one dad!" Sarah told her then. "You're so lucky you've got two!"

Rachel's gaze sprang to the boy next to her then, who had shifted uncomfortably in his seat at his sister's words, but remained silent.

"Yes, but you do have your brother," the elder reminded her kindly, and tried not to look at the boy of the moment as she said it; she didn't need to look into his eyes and see the suspicion she imagined he would be harboring there. "So that makes you extremely lucky also."

"Oh, I know," Sarah assured her vibrantly. "I don't need a dad, 'cos I got Noah."

She saw him suck in a breath then, hold it there, gulping down as he eyed the seven-year-old.

The words had barely had a chance to circulate in the air around them, when she added, "You'd be super lucky if you got two brothers though – or a sister. I wouldn't mind a sister."

Rachel smiled at her and nodded in acknowledgment of her words.

And Sarah's eyes lit up; as an absolutely brilliant, completely uncontainable, thought apparently appeared instantly in her young mind at that. She turned quickly and grabbed a hold of Rachel's hand. Practically bouncing up and down in her seat, she released an excited squeal as she gasped and said, "_We_ could be sisters!"

And somehow Rachel managed to just smile warmly at the girl and calmly reply, "I would be honored to be considered your sister."

"She's only saying that to shut you up, you know," her brother commented at that with an amused expression on his face.

"No, she's not," Sarah responded instantly, giving him a pointed look in return.

"Oh, yeah?" he teased. "An' how'd you know?"

"Well, duh, I'm only like the most awesome person ever," the seven-year-old told him, like it really was the most obvious thing in the world, and why didn't he know that already? "People would die if they related to me."

She caught his wince at his sister's wording; and was silently thankful that the little girl hadn't realized how she'd phrased that last part.

Her brother seemed somewhat in awe of the moment, apart from that, however. He stared after the seven-year-old as she threw open his truck door and sprinted across the path to reach Rachel's porch; uncontainable excitement the clear source of each step as she skipped and hopped and performed quite the little impromptu, eccentric dance-routine covering the short-distance.

"I dunno how you did that," he remarked then, his eyes still fixated on his sister. "Stayed all calm an' stuff when she was like high on e's or whatever; but it was pretty fucking _A_!"

"Puck?" she said then, and he tore his gaze away from his sister to look at her. "We don't use profanity in my house."

"Right," he muttered at that, and got out of the truck to follow after her as she made her way to her front door. "'course you don't."

"And when you say I'm '_A_', what does that refer to exactly?" she asked, glancing over at him, and unable to prevent the small smile from slowly creeping up her face.

"Ace, Berry," he told her with a smirk. "It means you're pretty ace."

"Oh, ok then," she said, taking the moment and allowing his words to sink in, before deciding with a wide smile, "I suppose that would be an adequate description of the skills I possess."

And he just shook his head at her, his lips curved at the edges, as they stepped closer to her front door.

.

"You're welcome to stay for dinner, if you'd like," she told them as they stepped into her house, as she placed her keys on the rack on the wall.

"Tempting, Berry, but we'll see how this whole _thing_ you got planned for me goes first, 'fore I start making plans to sit next to you when you got sharp pointy objects in your hands, yeah?" was his response as he absentmindedly helped his sister peel off her zipped-hoodie and then hung it on the banister at the base of the stairs.

She shrugged, as if it mattered not whether he did indeed stay for dinner with her or not, and calmly replied, "Suit yourself."

"Yeah, so listen," he said, turning to his little sister. "Berry's got like a heap of electronics, alright? So you can jus sit an play them for a while or whatever, ok?"

The seven-year-old didn't seem to need to take too long to be convinced that this was a good idea; she nodded less than a minute later, shrugged her shoulders and agreed, "Sure, ok. Where are there?"

Rachel smiled brightly at her and placed a warm hand at the top of the girl's back as she lead her into the living room where her television took up a large space of the cabinet that surrounded it; which was filled with an array of books and DVDs and photo frames. Paintings hung on various points on the walls and the room was brightly lit with the late-afternoon sun that had yet to dim and the light color scheme. It couldn't have been any further apart from what the Puckerman's were used to in their own home.

"Wow!" Sarah breathed in as she took in her surroundings, spinning round so her eyes could catch sight of everything around her.

She walked slowly forward and began perusing through Rachel's vast DVD collection, her little finger swiping along the titles; causing the elder to silently hope elementary schools still enforced the rule of rigorous hand-washing at various intervals.

Sarah swiveled round when something apparently caught her interest and she just _had_ to question it, "Are these all of you?"

"Hmm?" Rachel asked, and took a step forward to see what the girl was referring to.

The seven-year-old kept her gaze solely on the elder.

And when Rachel realized it was the recordings of her dancing and singing competitions from when she was a child, she nodded. "Yes, they're all of me," she said, and then thought to expand, "I'm an only child and my fathers have always liked to encourage active outlets for my burgeoning creativity. The competitions also helped to instill a great sense of self-confidence; though my fathers constant front-row presence at all of my contests and recitals also ensured I was provided with a wonderful foundation of support."

"Mom used to always come watch my soccer matches," Sarah told her enthusiastically in return. "Noah shouts more than she does though – mostly at the other team though, but sometimes at me."

"He always wants me to hack at their legs," she divulged in her stereotypical 'mock-whisper' with a sly smile.

"That's because the little punks need to be taught a lesson on how to treat girls," his voice traveled across the room, and Rachel turned to see him lounging against the open doorframe, legs crossed at the ankles and a smirk on his face as he watched the pair of them.

She saw Sarah roll her eyes at her brother, and then tell him, "It's a _mixed_ soccer-league, No. They're _supposed_ to try tackle me."

"Yeah, but they should learn their lesson that when you kick them they're meant to _stay_ down," he replied, a rueful smile on his lips.

"Such a wonderful dispensing of advice," Rachel remarked at that, and he rolled his eyes at her, twisting his head away from her and readjusting the arms he had crossed over his chest.

Sarah cut her gaze from one to the other in mild interest.

"Now," she moved on quickly to announce. "Your brother and I are just going to go into the other room, because we have some things to talk about – "

"Oh, like big-kid stuff?" Sarah attempted with an understanding smile.

"More like '_you can't listen 'cos Mom would maul me_' stuff," her brother answered, before Rachel had the chance.

"Oooh, really?" the seven-year-old's interest seemed renewed, and heightened, by this reply.

"Yeah, really," he replied, answer succinct. "And no, you can't listen in – I wasn't lying about the mauling part."

"Ok, fine," Sarah grumbled, and turned her attention back to the scores of DVDs spread like a canvas before her. "I'll just watch something."

So they went about getting her settled: Puck had rolled his eyes at how long the whole thing was taking (his words) as Rachel sallied here-there-and-everywhere to appease his little sister's every whim and ensure she was comfortable and had everything she might need or want, so as to almost guarantee they wouldn't be interrupted.

.

"So, tell me who he is," Rachel laid out the stipulations as soon as she joined him in the room; mindful of the volume of her voice given their close proximity to his sister in the adjoining room, no matter how loud she had the TV programmed. "And why I should trust that you must have a good reason for not having called the police already, 'cos I sure as heck can't think of one; and we both know how smart I am."

"_Christ_, Berry!" he released immediately, spinning round to face her, his eyes boring down on hers as he spoke. "You think I _want_ him following her? Watching her? Being anywhere _near_ her?"

Her eyes were fixed on him.

He let out strangled a growl that threatened to escape from low in his throat, and dragged both of his hands across his shaved scalp. "She's my sister, I never wanted this for her. I never wanted – "

He sighed, and seemed to realize fairly quickly that he'd be fighting a losing battle if he thought he was going to get out of there without explaining what was going on, since he threw himself into the nearest dining chair and opened his mouth to speak.

"He's not just some random guy," he told her then, and with his elbows on the table and his face in his hands, he lifted his eyes to lock onto hers. "He's my dad."

.

He wasn't exactly forthcoming with information about the man. However, when she pressed him a little (ok, a fair amount; but if he hadn't want her too, he wouldn't have started to open up to her in the first place – or so her logic relayed to her) she soon found out why, and she couldn't really blame him. When Puck said the man was a 'deadbeat', he meant it in its lowest, most base, vulgar, despicable form. Admittedly, he hadn't used those adjectives; but that was a moot point. They reached the same conclusion (even if his had contained more curses and apologies – directed at her, obviously, when he remembered where he was and her rules and opinions on his language – than hers ever would).

The man had been an erratic presence in Puck's life for the first eight years of his life or so, and then when his mother had found herself pregnant by the man (it was apparently during one of his _on_ phases, with less yelling, surprisingly less drinking, and less hitting too) he had turned and she had realized that she had made that mistake for the last time. The police had gotten involved: his Aunt Carol had helped in any way she could to fund the lawyer fees, though they weren't too extravagant given that the man didn't really have a leg to stand on in any way; and Puck's father was issued with a restraining order as well as countless other citations that seemed to all form a basis that forbade him from ever actually getting in contact with them ever again.

Puck had gone the route of attacking the man on sight; he'd even gone to the police (she was momentarily shocked too; but apparently it was better than getting carted away for assault, which he wouldn't put it past the old man to throw at him, leaving Sarah to deal with everything alone, when it fell into an even bigger mess) as well as consulting lawyers. The lawyers side of things was more his Aunt's domain, mainly because she'd dealt with them before; but he still found himself becoming involved. He'd probably read more about legal matters than he had his whole school career (again, his words – more or less).

But apparently as long as his father maintained his distance and didn't force contact or threaten her (them) and stuck to the lines preached to him on all those slips of paper; there was nothing the law could do. Apparently he tried screwing with the law to reach his desired end, but stopped when he realized, again, that it would likely leave his sister with more to deal with than simply pretending a random stranger who looked at her funny on occasion didn't actually exist.

She was beyond proud of him in that moment; and it suddenly hit her just how far he would go for his family. She knew he loved them, of course, that was evident; but his behavior of late suddenly drove home the point that there were really no limits on what he would do for them.

And she was starting to realize those limits had crossed over into her own life, and they were crossing-paths on their missions to aid that little seven-year-old in the room next to theirs. But moreover, they were converging at points that linked the two of them together, with more in common than just his little sister. She cared about him, and she cared about what happened to him.

"Hey, Rachel, do you have any ribbon or colored string?" Sarah's voice broke into their conversation then, traveling nearer and increasing in volume and clarity until she had entered the room they currently sitting in.

Both eyes inside the room shot across to the little girl who had just crossed over the threshold into the space that tentatively held them together.

"'Cos I was just thinking I could make you a friendship bracelet or something, since you're my sister now and everything. Noah's got one, an' he never takes it off, so you should have one too, which'd be pretty neat, and – Hey!" she stopped short at the doorway and frowned at the pair before her. "Why's it all weird in here? You two aren't fighting again, are you? 'cos that's beyond dumb, you know. 'Specially since now we've added you into the family, Rachel."

"We weren't fighting," her brother is the first to respond, and he turns in his chair to look at her so she's not just seeing his back positioned towards her.

The frown on the little girl's face deepened then and she looked between the two of them, the tone in her voice one of wonderment as she asked, "Then why does Rachel look like she's about to cry?"

Rachel blinked in response to this, and tried to school her features into a more appropriate display.

"And you look like you wanna punch someone," Sarah added, swiveling her gaze round to meet her brother's.

"Cut it out with the creepy trying-to-work-out-what-you're-missing thing," Puck directed at his sister. "We were jus' talking, an' all that singing you have on at that insanely high volume was giving me a headache."

"I know you're lying to me," Sarah simply told him in response to that. "But it's for my own good, right? So it doesn't matter."

There was no bitterness in the girl's tone: not that Rachel would ever hope to have to look for such a thing, nevermind hear it, coming from a seven-year-old's mouth, but she knew that Sarah; while still completely encompassed by her childish ways and all of the things that came with being her age, was far more perceptive and worldly-wise than her average peer.

"Ok, I'll be going back to the film now," she said then, and turned to walk back out of the room, but not before looking across at the older girl and saying, "It's really good, Rachel!"

Rachel couldn't help it, an easy smile fell across her lips and spread higher up her cheeks when she saw the little girl's eyes practically _sparkle_ in the light.

When she was out of earshot, she turned to Puck and instantly said, "You can't tell her."

"Yeah, I wasn't planning on it, Berry," he replied bitingly, and shot her a scathing look as if to ask her if she really thought him that much of an idiot.

She didn't, well ok, maybe sometimes she did; but that was only because he insisted on doing idiotic thing so often of the time, it was hardly her fault she knew better and so judged him in such a way. Regardless, this wasn't about that.

"No, I mean, you can't tell her. Ever," she altered her tone, because the way she said it made all the difference; and so she explained. "She thinks he's just some guy, a regular guy. She probably suspects something, but not that he's your father, and not anything that might even hint at the possibility of him knowing who she is to him."

His eyes were on hers then, boring into her intensely until she could make out the exact boundary where the forest gave way to the murky depths of what lay on the outskirts.

"She thinks the only reason he's still hanging around is because _you_ are allowing him to, because if he was dangerous or some sort of threat to her then you would've dealt with him already," Rachel expanded, and watched him closely with every word she dropped upon him. "She trusts you, trusts that you know what you're doing, trusts that you know what _he's_ doing. She trusts that you'll keep her safe."

His brow had crinkled slightly, and she knew he was taking in her words since he'd yet to shift his gaze during her entire speech.

"So, you need to do that," she reaffirmed, although _as if he didn't know_. "You need to keep her safe by making sure she doesn't find out about him; not that he's here or the real reason he can't get close to her or anything."

"Yeah, I know," he agreed with her; and the tiredness in his voice was like the shadows that fell behind her when she went outside in the brightest part of the day, no matter how sunny it might've been, they always obscured some part of the light from view.

"It'll be alright, you know," she tried to reassure him somewhat. "I realize it might not seem like it at the moment, but the night is darkest just before the dawn. Things will start to look up."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he answered, almost dismissively; like he'd been hearing it his whole life, but had yet to actually ever witness it coming true.

That was quite a haunting feeling.

He stopped and looked up at her, his eyes sparking with instant delight as they settled on hers, a familiar twisting of his lips as the comment left his lips, "Dude, did you just quote _Batman_ to me?"

**_TBC…_**

* * *

A/N: I realize I'll probably get comments about Rachel over-stepping the mark or whatever here, and probably even that it isn't really up to Puck (or Rachel) whether his dad gets to see his sister or not; but it sort of is. At least, in how I view this at the present time, it is. Puck's mum is in hospital, and she's trusting him, and her sister, to keep her youngest daughter safe and happy and healthy as well as themselves obviously. And so, in a sense, she's passing responsibility onto them. Puck knows what it was like when his dad used to live with him (within the realms of my fic at least ;) ) and more importantly his Aunt was there to witness it all too; so they're just trying to do what they perceive is the best thing for all of them. And Rachel? Well, she cares about Puck and Sarah, and she knows from her interactions with Sarah how the seven-year-old feels about the situation, so she's merely trying to help. Whether she is overstepping her boundaries or not doesn't really matter so much as her intentions; which are completely set on helping Puck and Sarah in any way she can.  
You're free to disagree, obviously ;) but I figured I'd better expand on my reasoning behind certain things.  
*Although* I have to add a reminder that just because I might write something into a fic, doesn't necessarily mean it represents my own views on the matter

WOW! Longest. A/N's. Ever.  
Sorry about that!

I'd just like to say, I'm overwhelmed by the reaction I've received thus far – all your alerts/reviews/favourites as well as just generally taking the time to read my little fic – it means so so much to me! I thank you most wholeheartedly for everything minute you invest in this with me :D  
Thanks for reading, and please do continue to let me know what you think.  
And if you've any ideas or suggestions, I'll endeavour to see meet them  
Steph  
xxx


	7. Better To Be Hated Than Love, Love, Love

A/N: For Nat – and me haha 'cos I'm selfish like that – for the inspiration to write this from our crazy comments on that car crash an how hot the scar would be… and that makes me sound like some sort of masochist. I hasten to add that I'm not, but my points would still stand, just 'cos ;)  
And wow, over 140 alerts on this one – and soooo many reviews and views and favourites! Thank you all so so much! It means so much to me that so many people are even showing a slight interest in this fic, nevermind taking more time out of their lives to review and whatnot. Thank you!

Hope you enjoy…

* * *

Chapter Seven: Better To Be Hated Than Love, Love, Loved For What You're Not

"_I have always thought the actions of men the best interpreters of their thoughts.__"  
_**_John Locke_**

.

"Where are you going?" she asked when she spotted him walking towards the front door.

"Out," he merely replied, and continued moving towards his destination.

She dropped the dishtowel onto the counter in front of her, and stalked across the short distance until she was standing in front of him, cutting across his path.

"I was able to deduce that for myself, thank you very much," she told him tartly, hands on the hips as she stared up at him. "I simply thought you might've felt it prudent to inform me _where_ you were going out to, exactly. Especially since I will be the one with the responsibility of looking after your seven-year-old sister, and as such, should be made aware of your intended destination."

He rolled his head round to meet her eyes with a disdainful look.

"Fine," he relented. "I'm going to fight club."

"Oh," she voiced at that.

"That a problem with you, Berry?" he questioned, smirk lifting the corner of his mouth as he leaned down to meet her eyes.

"No," she bristled. "I just wasn't aware that you still participated in that nonsensical, violent group."

"Yeah, well you haven't been aware of a lot of things lately," he muttered then. "An' just 'cos you can't see reason in it, doesn't mean it's stupid."

She frowned at his tone, and he shook his head.

"I'll be back in a few hours," he told her with a sigh, and sidestepped around her towards the door, calling out to his sister as he opened it, "I'm going out for a bit, Sarah, don't wait up. Rachel'll put you to bed."

She shouted a distant goodbye, engrossed in the dancing and singing spectacle on the screen before her, and a fleeting smile crossed his lips.

His lips quirked up and his eyes brightened for a moment. "Have fun, Berry," he told her. "Don't miss me too much."

And with that he walked out the door, leaving her speechless on his front porch.

.

"Is Noah ok?" Sarah asked her, as Rachel tucked her into bed later that night.

"I presume he is coping about as well as can be expected given the current circumstances," the elder answered diplomatically, as she continued to fix the youngster's bedding.

The little girl pursed her lips, her brow crinkling; apparently contemplating this answer.

"Why do you ask?" Rachel queried, completely her task and setting her hands on the bed to concentrate her gaze on the younger.

"Well, mostly 'cos he's been more… how'd you say it?" the girl paused for a moment, before continuing, "_Easily irritated_. Yeah, he seems more easily irritated. An' most of the time he's like so spaced out I don't know how he even manages to make dinner for us or drive around without crashing or – or _anything_."

Rachel nodded, taking this all in; it certainly fit with her own observations.

"D'you think he's just tired?" the seven-year-old asked her then. "Like, 'cos I know Aunt Carol's been helping out an' stuff – but you met her, an she's _super_ mental, you know? So, she's probably stressin' No out like _tons_."

That was true; she'd met their Aunt the day after Sarah had first been introduced to the Berry home. And while the lady certainly cared for them – it was obvious in how she showered the little girl with kisses and hugs on sight, sitting with her and listening to her speak, being completely interested in only her as they played together; and even how she'd interacted with Puck – at times she wasn't as helpful as she was obviously trying to be.

In fact, she'd been present for more than a few snappish comments from Puck, with Sarah's frown evident in the background. And she wasn't quite sure if it could be attributed to the seven-year-old's disapproval of her Aunt's involvement, or her brother's attitude. Rachel suspected it was something of a mix.

In a way she felt sorry for the woman, but she supposed the upheaval of roles must have been difficult for them all to adjust to. It would certainly explain why the elder seemed to be spending most of her time at the hospital with her sister, while Puck – or Rachel, who'd been introduced instantly by the siblings, at the exact same time (_that _was quite amusing) – stayed home to look after Sarah.

"Plus, he's been working more than before 'cos, you know, _you're_ here," Sarah's voice brought her back from her thoughts. "An' I don't think he's seen Mom as much, 'cos _Aunt Carol's_ here, or maybe he has – he doesn't really tell me anymore. I mean, Aunt Carol tells me stuff. Mom misses me, she wants to come home, but they won't let her yet. 'pparently she needs to take some more medicine first, but then _hopefully_ she'll be able to come home."

Rachel smiled sympathetically at the girl, but Sarah seemed lost in thought.

"I hope she can come home soon, I miss her," and the seven-year-old locked eyes with the elder as she echoed the words she had cried into Rachel's shoulder not so long ago; the tone so very different from before. "Maybe he's upset about that, and he can't sleep or something. Or you know, he's just doing too much. Hey!"

She opened her eyes wider, her expression expectant, as the youngster's voice held the exclaimed word.

"We should make a chore chart!" Sarah told her excitedly, face bright and eyes alert. "And you could give me a star every time I do something to help Noah out!"

She released a squeal at the idea, clearly proud of herself for thinking it up, and responding to Rachel's smile of encouragement with added enthusiasm.

"That'd be good, wouldn't it?" the seven-year-old asked, eyes looking for approval. "'cos then No wouldn't have to do so much around here, and he could like nap, or something. An' then he wouldn't be so tired, or upset, and he'd be better! Yes, let's do that."

Rachel released a soft chuckle at the girl's decisiveness and gently pushed the youngster back against the pillows, "Alright, we will, but not right this instant. Right now you have to go to sleep."

The little girl pouted. "Tomorrow?" she asked, her tone hopeful, and she raised her eyebrows and smiled sweetly up at the elder.

She smiled right back at her, easy and affectionate, as she agreed, "Tomorrow."

"Yay!" Sarah exclaimed, and then threw her arms around Rachel's neck, "Night Rachel."

Rachel was still smiling as she pulled away, smoothing the girl's hair away from her eyes to frame her face, kissing her on the forehead as she bid her goodnight.

She tucked the seven-year-old in once more and then quietly exited the room, turning the light off before she went, and casting a glance back over the little girl before closing the door behind her.

Then she made her way downstairs to the living room and settled herself into the couch as she awaited Puck's return.

.

The banging against the wood awoke her from her dreams and she blinked her eyes to adjust them to the darkness that surrounded her. The clock on the TV flashed the time at her and she frowned at it. She heard a curse and the sound of metal scraping against wood and then the door opened and a figure tripped over the threshold and into the house.

"Puck, is that you?" she called out, pulling the blanket tighter around her as she edged towards the door. "What are you doing back so late? It's almost – "

She gasped as he stumbled into the light and revealed himself to her, quite literally.

"Oh my God, what happened?" she breathed out, rushing towards him as he staggered forward, his bag dropping to the floor with a dull _thud_.

He frowned in her direction, as if trying to work out where exactly she was standing, before simply settling on the vague area where her voice originated.

"Sometimes you win, sometimes… you don't," was all he said to her.

He lifted his arm and waved her away when she appeared next to him; but he swayed dangerously when he turned towards the stairs, the sudden change of direction apparently throwing him off balance.

She slipped in beside him and slung his arm over her shoulder, taking much of his weight as she slid her own arm around his waist to steady him.

"This is _exactly_ the reason I called that _club_ of yours violent and nonsensical," she told him as she steered them towards the stairs. Her logic was that she'd most definitely need the facilities of the bathroom to attempt to repair much of the damage, and it would be easier to simply take him straight upstairs to his bedroom than conduct the whole affair in the living room.

He sagged against her and she gripped onto the banister for support as they made their way painstakingly up the stairs towards his room.

"Now I'm going to have to spend an inordinate amount of time cleaning you up and trying to treat these wounds of yours," she told him, huffing under the weight of him as well as the annoyance she felt due of his actions.

"Yeah, but it means you get to show how much you _care_," was his response, and he practically spat the sentiment at her with all the bitterness he held.

"I do care," she agreed with him quietly, but resolutely, as they took the last step together. "And I hope you'll soon realize that."

.

"Other guy's worse," he told her, tone confident even as he limped over and pretty much dropped onto the end of his bed.

"Yes, because that's exactly the kind of reassurance I'm looking for at this time," Rachel quipped in response to that.

She took him all in then: the bruises, the cuts, the obvious points of impact. The back of his head had a large gash in it, the blood spreading across the back of the collar of his shirt and eventually joining with the crimson that stained the side after having dripped consistently for some time from the small nick in the top of his ear. He had a wide cut in his forehead, by his temple, a cut that split through his eyebrow and a slice across the apple of his cheek. His jaw was already beginning to bruise substantially on one side and she knew he'd likely have a watercolor blend to match across his torso. The knuckles on both of his hands were bloody and bruised, the skin split across the bone in an obnoxious display of the damage he was capable of administering. His shirt had footprints and scuffmarks all over it, smatterings of blood and grime lining the edges, and his jeans were ripped at the knee, the torn thread colored red.

In short, he looked a disaster.

Except, he had this look in his eyes, like he'd just battled Goliath and won and… it was possibly the most attractive thing Rachel had ever laid eyes on!

She shook her head to clear _those_ thoughts from being projected and instead focused on the matter at hand. Namely the half-conscious, beaten up teenager she had to play medical worker to.

"Well, 's'true," he shrugged his shoulders in the slightest of movements, a quick gasp escaping his lips before he could catch it. His teeth ground against one another, and he added, "Pretty sure he was on his was to the ER when I left."

"Which is exactly where _you_ should've gone also," she rebuked at that.

He raised an eyebrow at her; the one that _wasn't_ sliced in half, and scoffed at her suggestion, "Yeah, 'cos I was gonna risk half the staff there telling my mom about it when they next go an' pay her a visit. Real intelligent, Berry."

"You know what would've been intelligent, _Noah_, is if you hadn't gotten involved in the fight to begin with," she told him, staring him down as she said it; and when she was confident he was going to keep his mouth shut for the next moment, she left to go and retrieve the first aid kit and any other supplies she estimated she might require from the bathroom.

"My mom's dyin', and my dad's suddenly returned an' has taken to stalking my seven-year-old sister," he said as soon as she settled before him once again; his words slightly slurred due to the concussion he'd undoubtedly sustained and the cut lip he was sporting. "So 'scuse me for finding something to do with my anger since football season ended an' we suck just as much at basketball as we did at that."

"Yes, and while I applaud your ability to find an outlet for your emotions, I simply cannot agree with the form with which you have chosen to do so," she informed him, but her voice was lower than usual, gentle even.

She pressed a cotton pad to the cut on his eyebrow, trying to stem the blood that was still seeping from it, and commented, "Some of these injuries look exceptionally painful, Noah."

"S'fine," he shrugged off her concern, and her fingers brushed over the slash across his temple as she continued to clean the worst of his wounds. He couldn't hide the wince that overtook him then; caused him to clench his fists, and grit his teeth as his brow screwed up in obvious pain.

"Why do you do it?" she asked him then, concern etched into her features. "You don't deserve to suffer like this, you know. You're suffering enough already without the physical marks to show for it as well."

"My mom's lying in a hospital bed _dying_, Berry. And I'm running around dancing and singing, acting like nothin's the matter," he countered, with a roll of the eyes. "I hardly think that counts as suffering. I'd say it was more like – "

She placed her hand against his chest, felt his heart beat beneath her palm.

"What're you – ?" he started to say, but she cut him off with words this time.

"I can feel your heart beating, which means you're alive," she told him in a soft whisper. "It doesn't mean you're really living, Noah."

"Don't," he told her, his voice low, hoarse. "Berry – "

She lifted his hand with her free one and placed it above her own heart.

"I'm alive, Noah," she told him, and squeezed his hand as assurance. "Feel it skipping a beat every so often. I'm living life; my feelings are translating to the rhythm of my heart."

"That sounds like a line from some cheesy chick song," he told her at that.

She rolled her eyes at him, but noted that he hadn't torn his hand away from hers. She briefly wondered if that might have something to do with the close proximity of her breasts to his immediate grasp.

"You know you didn't even let me do this when we were dating," he remarked, the smirk on his face evident even through his voice. "If I'd known all I had to do was tell you some sob story about my home life an' turn up on your doorstep with a few bruises – "

"That was most certainly _not_ an invitation for you to fondle my breasts!" she sounded scandalized, and ignored the way her heart felt like it had skipped double time when he palmed across her breast, her body instantly reacting to his touch.

"You're out of breath already, Berry," he leaned forward to whisper lecherously in her ear, the words still hot on her skin even as he pulled away.

She blinked and everything seemed to come into focus once more. She slapped his hand away at the exact time the blood returned fully to her brain and she regained her regular state of breathing.

"Hey!" he pouted, cradling his hand to his chest. "I'm an invalid here – I thought you were supposed to be embracing your inner Nurse Berry and making me feel better. Well, newsflash, sugar! Sex makes me feel better."

"You're disgusting," she rolled her eyes at him, and took his injured hand in hers, wiping away the excess blood that had congealed there and dabbing it with antiseptic. "And I am not having sex with you."

"We'll see," he told her confidently, and his wide smirk almost hid the pain in his eyes as released a long sigh clearly aimed at the ministrations she was carrying out as she applied the salve. "They all cave to the God of Puckerone eventually."

"That's blasphemy," she chastised, as she wrapped the bandage around his hand. "And I resent your insinuation that I am anything like those other girls you surround yourself with."

And just for good measure, she yanked on the bandage a little harder than necessary to tie it off at one side. His tiny yelp was melodic to her ears and she smiled smugly to herself.

.

"Where are you going?" she demanded when he stood from the bed and made his way towards the door.

He turned at the sound of his voice, fingers wrapped around the door-handle. "Gotta say goodnight to Sarah," he told her, and blinked slowly. "She has this thing about me doing it every night – an' somehow she knows when I don't do it."

The smile crept along her lips before she could stop it.

He rolled his eyes. "It's annoying, not _sweet_ or anything, alright, Berry?" he told her at the first sign of her amusement.

"Oh, I'm sure it is _terribly_ inconvenient for you," she agreed, but her tone was far too entertained to show any real support to his words. "However, you're wrong. Of course. It is ridiculously sweet of you."

"She's seven, Berry, come on, gimme a break here," he fit her with an unimpressed look.

Her smile was genuine, the edges of her eyes softening to match, and she told him sincerely, "You know, sooner or later, you're going to have to accept that you're a good person."

He scoffed, and turned his head back to the closed door.

"You don't show it to everyone, but it's there," she continued on, her solid tone reverberating off the walls. "And it's not just Sarah who gets to see this other side of you. I've seen it too, you know."

He didn't turn at her words, but she could tell he could hear her; could tell that he was really listening to what she was saying.

"You're special, Noah Puckerman," she told him resolutely. "And you should open yourself up to the world so they get the chance to see that."

"The only person who's that special, Berry," he turned and locked eyes with her, "is you."

And with that he wrenched open the door and walked out.

.

"You called me special," was the first thing she said to him when he reentered the room some time later, closing the door behind him.

"Yeah, and?" he prompted, and raggedly ran a hand over his Mohawk. "You are special."

She simply stared up at him, trying to work out what _exactly _he was trying to tell her.

"In _every_ sense," he added teasingly, the light smirk playing across his lips.

Her expression remained unchanged, and his faltered under the weight of it.

"Come on, Berry," he reasoned. "We know that if anyone's gonna get out of this cow-town and actually make something of themselves, it's gonna be you. I'm not pissing around – you talk about the world an' me an' how everything'd be ok if I jus' let them _see_ me. But you're lying. 'Cos everybody knows the only thing the world would stand up an' cheer for is you. S'why everyone's always hating on you so much."

He shrugged his shoulders, and she blinked, his words spinning through her mind too quickly for her to process them properly.

"You're the only one with any _real _chance of going anywhere, Berry,"

"While I admit, my steadfast determination and drive to succeed in everything I do has yet to fail me in any of my life goals; I don't agree with you that I am the only individual with the potential to break out into something greater. In that respect, you're clearly delusional," she told him, and then shook her head, her lips curving up into a smile. "You took a large chunk out of your head, you must've hit it pretty hard."

"Yeah, I did," he told her, and he rubbed a hand over the tender spot, wincing slightly as he did so; and then he lifted his eyes to meet hers as he added, "But I know what I'm saying."

She watched him as he took another step towards her.

"I may not be as smart as you, but I'm not dumb," he told her with a frown, adamant that she should pay more attention to what he was actually trying to say to her.

"I never said you were," she replied easily to that. She knew he didn't apply himself to the academics that their educational system provided for the students in their town, but she could never be under the impression that Noah Puckerman was completely obtuse. He had smarts inside of him that astounded her at times, and he had the potential to do great things – whether he believed that or not – and he was _smart_. After all, he did call on her assistance repeatedly.

"Then how's about you listen to what I'm trying to say to you, Berry?" he gritted out, and then rolled his eyes. "Or is it so hard to believe that I'd be the one to finally try an' open your eyes to why everyone acts like they do towards you?"

He flopped down on the bed next to her; threw both his arms over his eyes in frustration.

"Don't go to sleep," she instructed. "You most definitely have a concussion, you can't go to sleep yet. I need to ensure you aren't going to die from a bleed in the brain, or – "

He groaned, let out a strangled scream, "Enough with the talk, Berry. Just wake me up every hour or so, make sure I'm not gonna die or end up like a vegetable or something."

"You shouldn't be so flippant about matters like that," she told him, and turned to consider his profile.

"My mom's dying, I can be as flippant as I like about matters like that," was his biting retort.

"And you should stop throwing that at me like it's my fault," she said, holding the same steady tone of voice. "I know your mother is sick, Noah, I'm well aware of that – you don't need to remind me repeatedly."

"Yeah?" he questioned, and removed the obstructions from his vision, pushing up from the bed to stare hard into her eyes. "Well, maybe I like reminding you. Maybe I like reminding you that you get to leave at the end of the day and go back to your own home – where you don't have a seven-year-old to look after, and a crazy-Aunt who meddles more than she helps, and a dad who used to beat you senseless trying to muscle his way back into your life, while your mom lies hooked up to machines in a hospital bed barely conscious half the time!"

"That's not fair," she said then, her voice impossibly quiet.

"Life's not fair," he growled in return.

"You know I care about you – "

He was still breathing hard after his rant, his eyes ablaze; but he cut her off with a low sneer at her with these words.

And before she could really comprehend exactly what it was that she was doing, she had filled the space between him, cupped his face in her hands, and was kissing him like her very life depended on it.

He responded instantly, and it was like it was when they were dating: the passion, the eruption of feelings within her that bubbled to the surface with his barest of touches. Except the emotion was so consuming this time, and so raw; she could feel it on his lips, like desperation begging to be harnessed and thrown a lifeline.

He had one hand fisted in her hair, and the other on her cheek, while hers had migrated to his shoulders, gripping against them for support, stability. Her lips were crushed against his, his tongue battling with her own for dominance. It was rough, and unrefined, and everything she'd never have anticipated she'd partake in: but she felt more in those few moments than she had with any song she'd ever sung.

When they broke apart their chests were heaving, their pants coming in short bursts. Both of his hands had shifted; one near the base of her spine, holding on tight to her form as her body pressed in close against his, and the other shaping the curve of her neck.

He rested his forehead against hers, his eyes still closed and he gulped down whatever he was feeling just then. She threaded her hands through his Mohawk, reveling in the tingles that danced across her palms as she dragged them over the strip of hair; she sucked in a breath as she felt him shudder under her touch.

"Why did you do that?" he questioned, the gravelly tone sending shivers across her skin, as his fingertips continued to scorch the delicate spot where her throat met her collarbone.

"Because you keep saying I don't care," she responded; because it was the simplest answer; because it was all she could give him; because it was the truth.

He swallowed, and blinked slowly, before allowing his eyes to finally settle on hers. Her fingers were laced together at the top of his spine, her thumbs drawing circles in his the short cut of his hair.

"I care, Noah," she told him then, eyes bright and open and beseeching. "I need you to believe that."

The air crackled around them, and silence ensued for the following few moments, before he nodded his head at her; his lips tweaked upwards from one corner.

"Oh, I do, Berry," he said, and there's was amusement in his voice when he finally spoke. "I told you the Puckerone was impossible to resist."

She smacked him on the chest at that. Hard.

He reeled back and his laughter bounced off the walls.

"You are incorrigible," she told him huffily, hitting him again with her small fists. "Honestly!"

He pulled her close, and they both fell back against the mattress; and before she could free herself from his arms, he'd pulled the blanket up and over the two of them.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, as she watched him settle himself into the bed.

"Going to sleep, Berry, what does it look like I'm doing," he answered, eyes closed as he readjusted his head on the pillow. "Don't forget to wake me up for a nice chat every hour or so, yeah?"

She huffed, and she would've stomped her foot too if it weren't for the fact she was currently lying hostage in a boy's bed, with _said_ boy's arms wrapped tightly around her.

"I don't think it's at all fair that I should have to interrupt _my_ REM cycles, just because _you_ were too stubborn and hot-headed to channel your aggression into other outlets," she told him, her tone sour. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just walk out that door and leave you here to suffer for your own irresponsible actions?"

"Because you _care_," he said, and he released a breath with the words, cracking an eye open to look up at her.

Ok, so maybe he'd got her there. She still didn't have to be happy about it.

She glared at him. "Caring's overrated," she huffed, but settled in against him, nonetheless.

His chuckle was low, and rich with sleep as it spread around them; his breath hot against the back of her neck. "That's only 'cos you know it leads to lovin'."

She rolled her eyes, and crossed her arms over her chest as much as she could, given the restraints his own were currently serving as. "Goodnight, Noah," she sighed, drowsiness washing over her.

"Night Berry," he mumbled into her hair, and she felt his arms tighten around her.

She made sure to sing a Broadway song every time she woke him up for his hourly speech and visual assessment. His rapid eye-movement, attempt to roll his body away from her, and the grunt that he emitted were likely enough to ensure her that he was, in fact, cognizant; but she felt he deserved a little extra torture for the way he'd treated her earlier that evening. So she made sure she sang each show-tune in full, prodding him the entire time she did so to ensure he was fully awake for her performance.

Worked like a charm.

He was as tired as she was the next morning, and crabby too; though she did get a muffled half-hearted apology when she snapped at him at one point. It was the beginning, at least, anyway.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

A/N: the chore chart was a wee dedication to **iamladyliberty **who suggested it as an idea in her review – thanks!  
Also, yeah… that last part wasn't actually meant to happen – so it calls for a rewrite of certain other parts lol – but oh well ;)

Thank you all so much for reading, and please let me know your thoughts – I do try to incorporate ideas that readers may have, so if you have any feel free to throw them my way ;)  
Steph  
xxx


	8. But You Are So Magnetic

First off, WOW! I am soooo sorry for taking so long to update – I was bombarded with requests/ideas and my muse decided to run away chasing their tails rather than letting me complete this. Hopefully updates will go back to their regular basis from now on

A/N: For Dee at ff who prob can't remember this and may or may not even be reading lol, but we had a brief random chat about an idea we'd like to see, an it sort of stuck and formed the basis of the second half of this chap ;)

WARNING: this contains a section of 'sexual content' – it's nothing explicit, but it skirts around it, so if you're not supposed to be reading that, just miss out the part in bold  
Oh, and bold=memories/dream/flashback

I don't even know if there's angst in this part – it's more… fun? Fluff? I dunno lol, I never know what it is these days – this fic's a mix of a lot of things ;)

Hope you enjoy…

* * *

Chapter Eight: But You Are So Magnetic

"_Nobody knows it but you've got a secret smile  
And you use it only for me."  
__**Semisonic, 'Secret Smile'**_

.

When she woke up it was to a pair of curious green eyes and an innocent smile.

"Oh, Sarah!" she exclaimed, instantly pulling herself up into a sitting-position, holding the sheet close to her chest; despite the fact she was fully clothed. That reaction had her frowning and momentarily directing her attention downwards to check that she was, in fact, still fully clothed. She breathed a sigh of relief when her immediate thought was confirmed. "I can assure you that this isn't what it looks like."

"Yes, it is," the seven-year-old countered easily. "You stayed over. Though I dunno why you slept in Noah's bed – mine's _way_ comfier. And we're sisters now, I could've shared."

Rachel smiled at the girl; really, she was far too endearing to ever be caught up in such situations as the ones in which she was. "That's mighty kind of you, Sarah, but – "

"She likes my company better," Puck interjected sleepily, and Rachel turned sharply at sound of his voice.

"No, she doesn't," the girl simply returned, the smile plastered wide across her face as she tilted her gaze to rest on her brother's dozing form. "'Sides, you're not a pretty sight. You're all beat up."

"I'm a stud, sis, I don't _do_ _**pretty**_," he told her, face still half-pressed into the pillow behind where Rachel herself was positioned. "An' the cuts jus' big-up my badass rep – you know that."

Sarah frowned down at him, and merely remarked, "Well, the bruises make you look like my model make-up doll, an' that doesn't make you a badass, No, it makes you a sissy."

She poked her tongue out between her teeth, her face splitting with a cheeky grin.

"If I wasn't so comfy I'd throw my pillow at you right about now," he muttered, and turned his face further into the plus surface.

"You have to get up, it's a school day," Sarah told him, her voice losing some of its volume and pitch as she skipped merrily out of the room. "And Mom hates when you go to fight club, you know."

"Yeah, well, Mom's not here," he growled moodily into the pillow, and heaved a sigh, his hands fisting either side of the pillow as he threw it on top of his head and began to hum loudly in what Rachel deemed an attempt to drown out his little sister's singing.

"You should've let me put salve on those before we left this morning," she said, announcing her presence on the stage alongside him. He was obviously taking advantage of the quiet to change before the rest of Glee club arrived; she didn't question why he wasn't doing it in the bathroom or changing rooms.

He turned at her words and frowned; the cut that sliced through his eyebrow became more prominent with the action, and made the gash near his hairline stand out even more as well. With his arms through the sleeve of his v-neck, his bare torso was left completely on display. She sucked in a breath then as she watched his muscles, some of which she hadn't even known _real people_ possessed in such definition, shifted as he adjusted his stance. He tried to curve away from her, attempted to hide the wince that raked through his whole form as he straightened.

"Stop eyeing me like I'm cattle for you to poke and prod in some messed-up study," he muttered then, and slowly pulled his top over his head.

When he turned back around, she was still staring at him.

It was then she was reminded of the dream she'd had the previous evening, while wrapped up in his arms, of _all _places.

.

She was sitting by the pool in her back yard, rubbing lotion on her shoulders and trying to reach as far down her back as she could."Need a hand with that, Berry?" a male voice interrupted. "I could hit all those hard-to-reach spots for you.""Noah!" she cried out, twisting her head round to face the source.

Her eyes widened at the sight of him. She wondered if this was the usual reaction he received when a woman saw him with his shirt off, or if he was merely playing it up for her part.

It was true, he had an impressive physique; she had no doubt he kept his body in excellent condition. She certainly hadn't been lying when she had complimented him on his arms; except she should have given them more credit, because she wasn't entirely sure that _lovely_ was the most appropriate word to describe them.

She was brought out of her reverie when she felt rough hands begin to massage her shoulders, digging deep into her muscles. Her eyes closed of their own accord and she arched into him as he straddled the sun lounger. He reached around her lithe frame to pluck the bottle from her grasp, pouring a generous amount into his open palm and then pushing the lotion back into her hand until her fingers curled around it once again. The single touch between them sent a shiver through her spine, and her skin goose-pimpled instantly.

She sighed, her back still curved in a concave shape as he rubbed the lotion across her back, kneading his hands into her muscles.

"Why so _tense_, Berry?" he teased her, breath hot on her skin as his lips grazed over the inner shell of her ear.

His – so very dexterous – hands skirted across her sides before slipping across the front of her bikini top and palming her breasts. His fingers teased her through the thin slips of material and she found herself gasping for breath beneath his touch.

She released a moan as she pressed himself against her, and she felt just how aroused he was.

"Noah," she breathed out, pushing back against him as he pinched both of her nipples at the same time.

He lifted one hand, while the other cupped and squeezed her breast, to turn her head to the side. He kissed her then, his lips trailing across her jaw as hers parted to form an _Oh_.

"What, Berry?" he prompted at that, his lips descending on her neck and sucking on her pulse point. "Tell me what you want me to do."

She moaned again, her eyes rolling back into her head as his ministrations increased, and he continued to leave a wet trail with his mouth across her skin.

And _of course_ that was the exact moment her alarm went off and woke her up.

.

When she blinked and her focus returned to the moment at hand, he was staring back at her. The blush rose in her cheeks even as she tried to prevent it and she ad esure to try and make her deep calming breaths as discreet as possible; though it proved quite difficult since his eyes were on her like a hawk's. However, she was nothing if not an exceptionally gifted actress and so she delivered a stellar performance despite the pressure she was under and the heat of the moment, quite literally.

"Want a slushie over there to cool you off, Berry?" he asked, and he was smirking at her, with his eyebrow raised suggestively at her as he said it.

She shot him a disapproving look, which he simply laughed at.

"Whatever, we both know I'm hot. S'not like you'd be the first to admit it," he remarked cockily at that.

"Maybe I'll be the first to attempt to deflate your ego then and inform you that discolored skin stretched tight across the visible ridges of your ribs is not a turn-on," she replied. "Actually it's more of a turn-_off_ and personally I feel it triggers concern for your general health and well-being."

His scowl deepened then, and he adjusted the hem of his shirt so it fell over the waistband of his jeans.

It struck her in that moment that while he still had a wonderfully chiseled torso, and no one could ever accuse him of not being 'built'; his form had diminished somewhat. The body he possessed in her dream was the one she'd gotten a glimpse of prior to 'the situation' they found themselves in now. He'd lost weight, his muscles were possibly more defined as a result, but she noted when he had bent over to redress himself, she could make out more than just the outline of his ribcage, and that _was _worrying. His jeans were slung low on his hips and his bones jutted out more than they ever had before; he still had a body that even the best athlete could appreciate, but this drastic change was _worrying_.

When something wet and cold hit her face then, dragging her from her thoughts, she blinked furiously to try and gauge what it was.

When recognition suddenly flew through her brain and she saw him standing in front of her holding a slushie, she gasped and lifted her eyes to meet his.

"That cool you down enough to stop ogling me?" he quipped then, and rolled his eyes at her as he turned and started to walk away.

"Where are you going?" she spluttered at his retreating form.

"Gotta pick up Sarah from school, don't I?" he told her, meeting her eyes over his shoulder.

She huffed.

And then he winked at her. The _audacity _of the boy!

"Don't worry, I'll be back in time for rehearsal starting – an' you've got loads of time to clean yourself off," he called back to her; and she glared at him and the amusement she heard in his voice.

Yes, she thought, he was decidedly insufferable.

.

When he reappeared in the auditorium, she marched straight over to him and ground out, "I can't believe you threw a slushie at me."

She hit him on the arm at that, hard.

"You big jerk!" she exclaimed. He laughed as she hit him again, this time on the chest, and then he caught her hand in his. "You said you'd never throw a slushie at me again!"

"In my defense," he told her at that, sounding quite sincere although the smirk playing across his lips betrayed his true feelings on the matter, naturally. "I never _threw_ it at you. I just… dipped my fingers in it and sort of _flicked_ some of it at you."

The scowl still marred her otherwise perfect features.

"Come on, Berry," he appealed to her, raising an eyebrow slightly at her. "Forgive me?"

He tilted his head to the side, his lips forming a pout and his eyes beseeching. She hate hate _hated_ when he gave her that look. He always seemed to win people over with that look.

Her eyes narrowed further and she glared right back up at him.

"No," she told him resolutely; because _she_ was not going to be one to simply succumb to charms she knew were well rehearsed and caused others to fall to their knees before him. Please! She was not some common hussy whose will could be bent to fit the mood of Noah 'Puck' Puckerman. She was Rachel _freakin'_ Berry (as he seemed to have a habit of reminding her lately).

She dumped her entire slushie over his head and turned on her heel and walked away.

It felt _good_.

.

"You didn't think I'd just let you away with that, did you, Berry?" his voice called to her, and she turned around to see him standing with a slushie in hand, and grinning like a maniac.

He _tut-tut_-ed at her and she frowned as he advanced towards her.

"Don't you know me at all?" he asked then, his eyes lighting up and his lips splitting his face wider apart.

That was right, he was grinning _like a maniac_.

"Puck!" she exclaimed, backing away from him, and when he failed to stop where he was, she shouted, "Noah! Don't you dare! Stop where you are, right now!"

"Or what?" he asked, a glimmer in his eye, that smile still on his face. "What're you going to do to me, Berry?"

She rephrased her earlier comment in her head; he wasn't just grinning like a maniac, he _was_ a maniac.

She turned on her heel and ran, and he chased after her. He chased after her – across the stage they'd just been practicing on – and launched the slushie at her. She screamed at the contact and immediately stopped where she was. Turning slowly round to face him, she found his wide smile instantly morph into laughter, and he doubled over at the sight of her.

"You did _not_ just deposit your slushie all over me," she ground out, holding her hands out to the side as the cold _beverage_ dripped down her face and clothes and onto the stage.

"Oh, but I did," he replied smarmily; and she knew right there and then what would wipe that look off his face. "The question is, Berry, what're _you_ gonna do about it?"

She swiveled on her heel and stormed away, pushing past the others as she neared the door and ignoring all of the mixed reactions she received.

She knew he was baiting her; but Rachel Berry was not one to back down from a challenge.

Noah Puckerman wouldn't know what hit him.

Oh, it was so _on_.

.

She heard the tiny pitter-patter of feet scurrying to catch up with her as she marched along the corridors towards the cafeteria.

"Rachel, wait up!" Sarah called to her, and she turned at the little girl's call. "I already got you one."

The seven-year-old caught up with her and presented the cup to her, so big in her tiny hands that Rachel wondered how she'd managed to run all that way and not spill it. The answer, of course, was that she hadn't.

There were cherry stains across the front of Sarah's pale yellow polo shirt, even a few droplets on her sneakers; and her hands were coated in the sticky substance.

Sarah grinned toothily up at her, "I got your back, we're sisters."

"Well, if we're sisters, I can't very well leave you unarmed, now can I?" Rachel asked in return, and laced her fingers through Sarah's to lead her towards her original destination.

When she retrieved a wet wipe and brought it swiftly across the girl's palm, before swiping one across her own; the girl smiled brightly up at her.

"Presentation is key," she instructed the younger at that. "And one of us covered in slushie will be more than enough to create the false sense of delusion that we will be easily beaten."

"So I'm like the _ruse_," Sarah concluded at that. "Gotcha!"

And so the two girls devised a plan.

.

It turned out that they weren't the only ones involved in the slushie exchange. They'd no sooner entered the auditorium once again; with Rachel stepping out onto the stage while Sarah _innocently_ skipped through a row of seats that they heard the cry of _get her! _and a whole rush of bodies came flying towards her.

It morphed from girls vs. boys to jocks against Gleeks to every person for themselves and then back again. Slushies flew across the wide expanse of the stage, painting it a rainbow of iced water and corn syrup across the floor and any unfortunate nearby props caught in the crossfire. (Their theory was that if they stuck to one area, it'd be easier to clean up – or you know, easier for the _cleaners_ to clean up – boys!)

Her most enjoyable moment came when Puck grabbed his little sister and swung her high in his arms, and the two then struggled over the cup in his hand. He nearly had it poised perfectly above Sarah's head to pour over her, when Rachel appeared and deposited the contents of hers down his back. He arched his back against the sudden assault and dropped the seven-year-old who leapt to Rachel's side and exchanged a high-five with her, grinning from ear-to-ear. Due to his immediate reaction, however, he also managed to drop the majority of his own slushie on top of himself as well.

The two hightailed it out of his immediate reach, laughter spilling from their lips as they then ducked and dodged the follow-up attacks from Mike and Matt to go and reload.

It was the one time Rachel would say that the whole club had participated equally in an event. And enjoyed it.

When she caught sight of Puck staring after them, his mouth caught in a half-smile, she couldn't even find it in herself to wish he hadn't slushied her earlier. It was slightly deranged logic, but she knew he only wanted for his sister to be happy, and seeing Sarah so carefree and involved, and so positively full of _joy_, she knew it lifted a weight off his shoulders.

And admittedly, she liked being able to help him in whatever way she could; because God only knew he was a proud, stubborn boy at the best of times.

.

She screamed when her flats skidded on the slippery surface and she suddenly felt her balance shift backwards all-too-quickly. And then she felt someone catch her; elevate her back up so she could stand on her own two feet again. Her palms were flat against the hard plane of his chest and his hands dropped from her elbows where he'd grasped her to fall to her waist. His steady hold on her was welcomed as she attempted to regulate her breathing once more. Then she looked up at him and she swallowed. He blinked and his eyes raked over her form, and something flashed across his face.

And then his hands were on her, thumbs sweeping away the syrup from her cheeks, fingers brushing the dripping tendrils of hair from her eyes. He cupped her face, and she looked up at him through wet eyelashes, and he was grinning at her.

She smiled in return, because she'd recently realized that his smile was infectious. And when he touched her she had the urge to move closer towards him, to revel in the feeling he elicited from her; he was magnetic.

He kissed her then, both hands on her cheeks, palms firmly stuck to her skin, the tips of his fingers tangled in her sticky hair. And when their lips meshed together so completely, she thought their smiles would be permanently imprinted on each other's skin.

When he pulled away, she was sort of glad to see how his lips still curved upwards; but she also sort of adored the fact that they spread higher and wider when his eyes flickered to her lips and then back up to meet her gaze. She wondered if she'd ever get over the feeling of having an effect on him.

Her heart counted a single beat before his mouth descended on hers again, and he swallowed her laugh whole when he wrapped an arm around her waist, scooping her up off the floor so she was balanced on her tip-toes as he pulled her flush against him. His teeth nibbled at her lower lip and the sensation set off fireworks throughout her entire body. She thought she'd have been more embarrassed by her rather obvious if it wasn't plain that he felt it just as much as she did. He ran his tongue over her bottom lip and she tugged him closer, gripping the material of his shirt in small fists, and _somehow_ his other hand managed to inch its way all the way to her butt without her resisting.

To be honest, in that moment, she was fine with not resisting. However, when he squeezed her butt, he was pushing his luck just that bit too far. She pulled back and shot him a look, complete with the raised eyebrow.

He sighed, casting a glance off to the side, "Knew it was getting too good to be true."

She smiled knowingly at him, and then gave his t-shirt a little yank to grab his attention once more and pull him back down to her level.

"Just shut up and kiss me," she told him; and the way his lips spread across hers told her he wasn't completely against that idea.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

A/N: Yeah, so we're not *quite* at the 'dating' or the like stage yet, more angst to come, more fun, just more probably lol, but they're progressing, which is a good thing, right?

Hope you enjoyed it, and I should have another chapter up soon :D  
Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think – it really means a lot to me!  
Steph  
xxx


	9. You’re Vulnerable, You’re Vulnerable

Apologies for the delay – again – life and all that comes with got in the way :x

A/N: For **Christie**, sorry it took so long bb, hope I did your idea justice and that you like it  
**Jassy,** your part's in here too (near the v. end) hope you like it  
Also, because I'm a tool, I forgot to mention that the dream sequence in the last chap for all the lovely puckleberries over at the Lea board on ff :D  
And on that note, if you don't know what fanforum is or you lurk there you should def. come join in with the chat on the Glee board or the Lea board – I pimp this over there, an I've been told it's only fair I do the same for it over here ;) Plus, we always like new recruits :P And it's hella fun xD

Hope you enjoy…

* * *

Chapter Nine: You're Vulnerable, You're Vulnerable

_"I don't wish to be everything to everyone, but I would like to be something to someone."_  
**_Javan_**

.

"Don't look at me like that," he told her, frowning. "How the Hell am I supposed to know what to do? I'm not a freakin' doc, Berry – _you're_ the girl. Why don't you jus pull out all the mom-stuff you're all meant to have going on?"

"Your mother is receiving cancer treatment," she stated at that. "How can you _not_ know what to do when your sister is vomiting repeatedly?"

"Oh, that's _real_ sensitive of you, Berry," he said in return and shot her a look. "Bringing up the cancer-angle."

He rolled his eyes at her and heaved a sigh.

"As if I don't feel bad enough about not being able to look after my sister, now you go an' through in a comment 'bout me being a useless son too," he threw his hands in the air, all about the dramatics. "Way to make a guy feel better."

She ignored his remarks, because he was just doing it for show. Well, there was truth in his words; but the _way_ he was expressing them was most definitely for show.

"Your sister is the one that needs to be made to feel better," she countered easily. "_You_ just want attention."

"And what's so wrong with that?" he returned, and raised an eyebrow at her, that smirk appearing on his face instantly. "I mean, you're here, I'm here. What else we gonna do?"

"Not _that_," was her immediate retort, and she turned on her heel and stomped up the stairs; well, as emphatically as one could stomp when they were attempting to make as little noise as possible to avoid disturbing the sickly seven-year-old lying on her bed on the level above.

.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed when she felt his presence in the doorway behind her.

"You know this is probably all your fault," she told him, and turned to shoot him a disapproving look.

"_My _fault?" he spluttered at that, looking aghast. "How'd you work that one out?"

"Well, if _you_ hadn't instigated the whole _slushie-war_ then your sister would never have been drenched in icy water and left shivering for goodness knows how long before _I _was sensible enough to put an end to the whole act and take her to get cleaned and warmed up," she told him in a flurry of quiet words.

"The last time I tried to take her into the guys', you shouted at me an' told me it was _no place for a girl!_" he shot back, incredulity evident in his voice even when he mimicked hers.

"That's because it's not!" she returned; staring back at him, gaze equally as concentrated.

"You know that totally jus' goes against your whole point, right?" he remarked.

The smirk was back and she rolled her eyes.

"How's she doin' anyway?" he asked then, and nodded towards his sister's sleeping form. "She stopped pukin' yet?"

"Well, judging by the smell, I'd venture a guess at no," she responded at that, and she reached out a hand and gently swept some of Sarah's bangs from her eyes.

He wrinkled his nose at her remark.

"She's burning up," she told him then, and turned to look at him, eyes beseeching.

"I'll put her in the shower," he said.

She raised an eyebrow at him at that. "I was going to ask you to simply bring me a cold compress," she enlightened him. "However, if you think your approach would be more effective – "

He shrugged, "This way's quicker."

And then he took about three strides to reach her, leaning over to scoop up his sister into his arms, as Rachel pulled back the covers to make it easier for him. Sarah mumbled something incoherent and twisted her body, burrowing her head into his chest trying to avoid the bright light.

"You've got a temperature, Sarah," Rachel soothed, and gently rubbed the seven-year-old's arm. "Your brother's just going to take you into the shower so we can try and cool you off."

The little girl groaned and fisted her hands on the material of her brother's shirt. Rachel followed them into the bathroom, adjusting the temperature gauge as Puck stepped into the tub, shifting Sarah in his arms. The seven-year-old coughed and spluttered as the water rained down on them, lifting her hands to her face to sloppily wipe at her eyes and swipe the wet tendrils of hair off to the side. Puck reached up and placed his larger hand over one of his sister's smaller ones, effectively bunching her hair and pulling it back, holding her steady as she hiccupped.

"What, Berry?" he asked, tilting his head to look at her, and then he smirked at her. "You wanna join in the fun?"

Sarah lurched forward at that, and threw up all over the tiles on the opposite wall. Her brother looked like he was about to mimic her actions, if the widening of his eyes, scrunching of his face, or gagging noises currently spitting from his mouth were any indication. She had to stop herself from laughing at his reaction; laughing at another's misfortune was _wrong_; so she was trying to instill in his sister anyway since he was most notably a lost cause in that department. Sometimes, however, when the parties involved were just the two (three) of them, even she herself couldn't always adhere to her own rules.

"Oh no," Rachel responded brightly, sending him a smug smile. "I happen to be of the opinion that it's much more fun on this side of the tub."

He swiveled round to look at her, and he was laughing then, as he said, "Yeah, have fun with that. At least when she barfs in the shower, I have the running water to wash it away."

She blinked at him.

"There's a bucket and sponge under the sink," there was a wide grin spread across his face, and it grew with each passing moment as the words were transferred from his lips to her ears. "Make sure you change her sheets too, would you?"

"I absolutely abhor you," she replied instantly, glowering at him.

He simply laughed, "Not a chance, Berry. You _care_ for me too much."

"Do you even know what _abhor_ means?" she raised an eyebrow in question.

He pretended to look offended by that. "You _dare_ to question my brilliance, Berry? I am _bad-ass._"

"I'm top of our class," she returned with a smug look; ignoring the way he'd slowed his speech for the last part of her statement as if it would take her longer than the average _bear_ to understand such an admission.

He rolled his eyes, taking his hand from his little sister's shoulder to wave it around dismissively. "Book smarts."

"I like books," a small voice rasped, and Rachel turned to the girl endearingly, though it was Puck who answered her.

"I know you do, munchkin," he told her, and there was affectionate teasing in his voice. "You drag me to enough book stores on my days off I could map out the whole _advanced reading_ section of Lima's finest."

Rachel nearly choked on those words. "_You_ go to bookstores?" she asked in sheer disbelief.

"Control your bug-eyes, Berry, it's not that crazy a thought," he told her with another roll of the eyes. "I know you may be planning study sessions in your head right about now, but I can actually _read_, you know."

"Oh, I know," she answered chirpily. "I just wasn't aware you _exercised _the ability."

"Whatever," he blew her off. "Go clean my sister's bedroom, an' get her some new clothes to wear, an' pick out a book for her – an' not one with pictures, they're for retards, an' she's not Finn."

She raised her eyebrows to the sky as he continued to ramble; it was actually more amusing than anything else, in all honesty.

"I mean, dude's my best friend and all, but he can be dumb as shit sometimes," he told her, as if she wasn't fully aware of Finn Hudson's intellectual ability. "And Sarah is _nothing_ like him. She's smart."

"I am," the seven-year-old chose her moment to jump in again.

"See?" he raised an eyebrow at her, and flashed her a grin. "She's like you – she knows to amp up her talents."

"I'll take that as a compliment to counter your extremely sexist and presumptuous comment just prior, shall I?" Rachel asked.

He shrugged, sent her that dastardly smirk and said, "Take it however you want, baby, but you already know I appreciate your…" he licked his lips and looked her up and down, "… _assets_."

She pursed her lips, hands on the hips, eyebrows raised. He lifted his own in return and sent a pointed look at her chest. She followed his gaze and saw that her previously pristine white top was now virtually clear as it stuck to her bright pink undershirt, the outline of her breasts clearly evident under her sodden attire.

She hadn't realized she'd gotten so wet when she'd taken it upon herself to check the levels before he'd stepped in the tub behind her.

Apparently she said that out loud, because the boy before her looked about ready to burst with the restraint he was no doubt having to induce to stop himself from commenting on her choice of words. She'd have commended him on his apparent high level of self-control, but she didn't think it wise. Plus, she was already well aware of impressive ability to keep a hold of himself. They may have only dated for a week; but she was, as he himself put it, _hot_ and he was a stud (McKinley High's biggest – though to tell him that would only be to inflate his ego even more, so she knew better than to fall for that trick). And, while she might _not_ have allowed him to touch her boobs (his words), she knew fine well he grazed them often enough, and their make-out sessions – on her bed, no less – were certainly pushing the PG-13 boundaries at times. And yet, he'd never once pressured her; even when she knew it would have been all too easy for him. Yes, she knew all too well of Noah Puckerman's self-control.

"I'm going to change your sister's bed sheets," she told him primly at that, and turned on her heel and promptly marched from the room, arms held tight by her sides.

She would _not_ give him the satisfaction of embarrassing her further by crossing them over her chest.

"Feel free to change mine too," his voice called out to her just as she stepped into the corridor, and there was no mistaking the amusement coloring his words. "Unless you'd rather leave them like they are jus' now – whatever _you _want, baby!"

She made a non-committal noise in response and allowed his laughter to become the background music until she continued out of earshot.

.

It didn't take them long to get Sarah settled once more after they'd got her changed and back into bed. She fell asleep soon after, exhaustion overcoming her slight frame, and she observed from the doorway as Puck tucked his little sister in, running a hand through her dark locks, a small smile curving his lips as he watched the seven-year-old release a slow, steady breath.

She'd once stated that _being a part of something special makes you special_ and she felt it then; not in the same way as when she sang in Glee, but the difference only made the feeling more profound.

She was honored, truly, that she was able to lay witness to moments like those between the two siblings. That she was one of the chosen few who were privy to the other side of Noah Puckerman; the one he kept hidden most of the time from public scrutiny and opinion.

And it did make her feel special.

She'd been welcomed into their family; she was adored by his little sister, respected by his aunt, and sometimes when he thought she wasn't looking she caught sight of something in his eyes as he watched her.

_It made her feel special_.

_He_ made her feel special.

That was quite a scary realization.

Especially when they were yet to actually discuss what was happening with them, were yet to even broach the subject of what they shared or where it might lead.

When he stood up and made his way out of the room, she followed him downstairs to the living room, and took up the standing spot where he'd promptly thrown himself against the cushions of the sofa.

She opened up a small bottle; tapped two minute round pills onto her palm and swiftly put them in her mouth, swallowing them down with a quick gulp of water from her bottle.

"What was _that_, Berry?" he had turned to look up at her, eyebrow raised as he stared at her in question.

"Preemptive methods," she replied simply, and struck out her hand towards him where another two tablets lay, and prompted, "I expect you to take them in accordance with the timing of my own. I'm not aware of how well your immune system functions, but I think it best that we follow the same guidelines in order to ensure we, at least, remain physically fit."

He continued to stare at her as if trying to gauge if she was being serious or not. Of course she was; she knew he was well aware of this fact, even if he appeared to be currently pretending otherwise.

"If not for your sister's sake, then for Glee," she told him. "You know it wouldn't do either of them any good if we were struck down at the height of our prime. I dread to think how they'd continue on without two key members. I realize you may not play as integral a role as I do, what-with you not taking lead on any of the songs – we're really going to have to talk to Mr. Schue about that by the way because you _should_ be having at least _one_ lead – but New Directions would undoubtedly suffer with the loss of both of us."

"Well, would you look at that," he remarked, his expression amused. "You actually just put someone else above your fascination with our puppet choir of misfits."

She frowned at him, and he smirked in return.

"I'm sensing the end of the world is near," he quipped then, eyes alight with mischief. "Which'd be why I'm about to do as you say."

And with that, he reached over and plucked the two white pills from her grasp and threw them into his mouth, swallowing them dry a moment later; grinning at her triumphantly as he did so.

He really was insufferable at times.

.

When Sarah called out to him, she saw him leap from his seat like he'd been burned. And then he seemed to remember that she was there, and for whatever reason, maybe years of acting that way, he slowed his steps and threw a hesitant look her way as he drew his hand over his Mohawk.

"I'll be back in a few, ok?" he said to her.

She smiled and nodded.

"Just… " and he trailed off, as if unsure of what to say. A first, "… stay here, ok?"

Again she nodded.

Sarah had called his name another two times before he'd reached the top of the stairs. When she heard her own name being called out, Puck having already disappeared from view, she couldn't stop herself from moving in the direction of the little girl's bedroom.

"I want Mom, Noah," she heard the seven-year-old sniff. "I don't feel well, an' Mom always knows what to do to make it better. I want her to make it better, No."

"I know, kiddo," she listened to him as he obviously tried to pacify his sister, and she heard the blankets rustle. "But she can't come home right now."

When she reached the doorway, the pair were lying on Sarah's bed, the girl's arms looped around her brother's neck, her face pressed against the niche by his collarbone. He rubbed her back in a manner she knew was an attempt at soothing his sister and tightened his hold on her.

"I want to see her," the seven-year-old impressed on the elder, and Rachel saw as Puck stiffened slightly at his sister's words, his back to her. "I want Mom to make it better, I want to see her. I miss her. I want her to come home."

"I know, Sarah," he replied, his voice impossibly low, and he sighed. "But she can't right now, you know she can't."

Her hold tightened around his neck, and Rachel saw the girl's small fingers digging in to the skin as she pulled away from him then, frowning.

"But _why_ can't I see her? I want to see her," the seven-year-old said. "I'll wait till I'm better, and then we can go – together – and she'll be happy, you'll see. She wants to see me. Why won't you let me see her?"

She knew it was going to happen; her early suspicion answered only moments later when she saw him yank his head back, shoulders stiff.

"Dammit, Sarah, because I don't want you to have to see her fu– "

"Your mom's not at her best right now, sweetie," Rachel cut in to explain, as she breezed into the room. "Your brother just doesn't want either of you getting upset if you can't do the things you might usually do together."

She laid her hands on his shoulders, squeezed gently to try and reassure him of her presence, to reassure him of himself and his place. She knew what he'd been about to say, and she knew the deflation of his shoulders beneath her touch meant he was already feeling the regret at even having thought the words, at even having considered saying them to Sarah.

_Because I don't want you to have to see her fucking __**dying**__, like I do every time I go and fucking see her lying there in that hospital bed _was not the best thing to say to a seven-year-old. Not the best thing to say to anyone, really.

"But everyone's hoping that when you get to see her that won't be the case," she tried to appeal to the girl, while watching her words; because the last thing she wanted to do was put her foot in it completely. "So even though it hurts to be apart now, hopefully it'll be even better when you get to be together again."

Sarah blinked at her, and then her gaze flickered over to her brother, who simply nodded at her in a show of agreement with what Rachel had just said.

Slowly the seven-year-old nodded as well, and the two older inhabitants seemed to release a breath in sequence with one another. After a few tense moments, the momentary uneasiness in the air seemed to dissipate and Sarah snuggled back in against her brother.

Still with her hands on his shoulders, Rachel felt him relax under her and smiled at the feeling. She squeezed him again… ok, so maybe she just felt like showing him some support.

"Rachel?" the little voice asked then, her head peeking up from behind her brother's shoulder.

"Yes, Sarah?" she replied, tilting her head to meet the younger's eyes.

"D'you think you could sing to me?" Sarah said then; and she sounded so impossibly young that Rachel wanted nothing more than to just take her in her arms and hug all her fears and worries away. "Just until I go to sleep again?"

"Of course," an easy smile graced her lips then.

The girl returned it, and started to say, "You can snuggle up with us – "

"We're not _snuggling_, Sarah," her brother cut in at that.

" – Yes we are," the seven-year-old replied with an unaffected bright smile, and she pulled the covers back and nudged her brother to make room for Rachel on her other side. "But don't worry, No, I bet if you ask Rachel nicely she won't tell anyone."

He glared at her over the top of his little sister's head as she moved from behind him to join them cuddled up in Sarah's bed.

"Any requests, Sarah?"

The girl shook her head, saying tiredly, "Nope, you choose, Rachel. I'm sure I'll like anything you sing."

Her brother rolled his eyes, and muttered, "Suck up," but there was a light teasing tone to his voice; and she marveled briefly at how easily the pair could slip back and forth in their emotions and regard for one another. She supposed love really did conquer all with them. She couldn't blame them. It was an enviable trait to possess.

She racked her brain for but a moment to think of something suitable. She threaded her fingers through the little girl's hair as she started to sing.

_When I look up from my pillow_  
_I dream you are there with me_  
_Though you are far away_  
_I know you'll always be near to me_

_I go to sleep, sleep_  
_And imagine that you're there with me_  
_I go to sleep, sleep_  
_And imagine that you're there with me_

He looked mildly surprised by her song choice; she didn't suppose he himself chose _I Go To Sleep _by _The Pretenders_ as his sister's bedtime lullaby, but it fit too perfectly for her to ignore it. He didn't seem to miss the lyrics and the connotations to their situation either.

She finished the song, even though Sarah was asleep before she even got to the last verse and looked up to find Puck's eyes on her.

She was about to question it when she suddenly started to topple backwards. He moved his hands to catch her and pull her in closer so she wouldn't fall off the side, chuckling when she narrowly caught her balance before tumbling off the edge. His arm wrapped around the small child sleeping soundly between them to encircle her and she welcomed the warmth it brought. With one of her hands gripping his bicep and the other resting on the pillow by his head, her fingers buried in the peak of his Mohawk, she nuzzled into the pillow and closed her eyes.

She wasn't even thinking about going to sleep. Honestly, she was only trying to revel in the moment while it lasted.

It lasted longer than she expected, and she eventually woke up to a pair of strong hands shaking her awake and then guiding her out of the room and to the stairs.

.

"You can talk about it, you know," she said to him, finally gathering her bearings. She curled her fingers around his bicep as far as she could, stopping him in his tracks, and causing him to acknowledge her once again when she dug her nails into his skin.

"No, I can't," he replied gruffly and shrugged out of her touch to storm down the stairs.

She'd barely taken the seat next to him when he threw a controller onto her lap and settled back against the cushions beside her. His legs were spread apart, in that decidedly uncouth way she detested, and he _knew_ she detested, and her knee was pressed close against his thigh. When she sat up a little to tuck her leg underneath her, she ended up even closer against him than before. He didn't seem to mind however, since he didn't complain. In fact, she could've sworn that when he readjusted his own position in the seat, he actually moved nearer to her. Well, at least his attitude against her seemed to have diffused.

She knew that he was a guy, that he was against talking about his _feelings_ at the best of times, that he felt if he spoke about it, it would be like opening a dam that he'd be unable to plug again. It still hurt when he closed himself off from her though, especially when she felt they were making definite progress with _whatever_ it was they were doing.

"What is this?" She looked from it to him, pronouncing the words slowly. "And why have you given it to me?"

"Controller," he replied simply. "I'm gonna beat your ass at sports – every kind you can think of."

He turned his attention back to the TV, while she simply blinked at him.

"You are proposing we play video games?" she asked.

"Well, you're the one who's making us stay on house arrest, you got any better ideas?" he returned, with a raised eyebrow.

She remained silent.

He threw a grin at her, "That's what I thought."

And then he started to rattle off the controls and the best technique that she'd do well to adopt for each sport and… she wondered how a boy could harvest that much information about such _trivial_ matters, and yet have no interest in expanding his knowledge even in matters such as _current affairs_.

She told him as such.

"This is current," he replied. "We got it going on right now."

She rolled her eyes at his poor attempt at relating the two.

"An' if you were still all dopey over Finn, I'd totally be your hot piece of ass on the side," he winked at her and when he smirked she couldn't help the laughter that bubbled over.

She fell to the side laughing; fell into him, oh, how convenient. What? She never claimed not to be a strategist. And besides, he started this whole _thing_, she was merely continuing along the same breadth of thinking.

She sucked in a breath when he lifted his arm and looped it around her, his hands gripping his own controller just in front of hers. She watched the quick movements of his fingers; the dexterity he possessed never failed to fascinate her. She could think of some other things he could use those nimble fingers for; and it wasn't the first time she'd thought as such.

She flushed in his embrace; she had no doubt he'd be only too happy to oblige, and indulge her in this little fantasy of hers. She daren't voice such a thing.

She wondered if he was the psychic one when he tilted his head and she found his smirk pressed against the curve of her cheek. And then she dismissed the thought; no, she was probably just transparent. He had a habit of being able to look right through her; it was unnerving, to say the least.

But… it was also rather enticing.

.

"What're you doing?" she asked, as he moved behind where she was standing in the space in front of the TV.

He let out an exasperated sigh, "As much as I love beating you; your retard skills get annoying after a while."

"Excuse me?" she practically squeaked at him in disbelief, eyebrows rising towards her hairline.

He rolled his eyes, waving away her dramatics. "You're not giving me any competition here, Berry, an' it's getting boring."

"Oh," she voiced.

"Right," he replied, "So, I'm gonna teach you how to bat. 'Cos seriously, you suck."

He positioned himself behind her; arms wrapping around her small frame, body pressed tight against her own as his hands clasped over hers on the controller.

"Just remember," he told her, his breath hot on her skin, her body tingling as strands of her hair danced in the air around his lips. "It's all in the hips."

He pulled her arms back with his, his hips thrusting forward and nudging her into imitating the movement.

"Like that?" she asked, her breath hitching as their hips rolled in perfect synchronization.

"You know it," he smirked against the shell of her ear.

At some point she was sure her eyes rolled back into her head, because what he was _teaching_ her? Well there was no way that was simply for the purposes of a _video game_. Oh no, this had _long-term-life-experience-by-Noah-Puckerman_ written all over it. Except, when he pressed against her like that, and squeezed her arms together so her breasts pushed in-and-up (no, she was not oblivious to _that_ particular outcome of his _teaching_), she found she didn't really care for the reason. He made her feel good. When she thought about the situation they were in, the reason that drew them together in the first place; she realized maybe that was all that really mattered.

He made her feel alive, wanted, safe.

And if there was even a smidgen of the prospect that she instilled the same in him; even if her participation only amounted to taking his mind off the chaos that surrounded him on a daily basis; she'd embrace it with open arms.

Noah Puckerman made her more accepting, more giving; selfless almost: who knew?

Apparently what they shared, 'officially' undefined or otherwise, really _was_ special. That, at least, was something she could hold as being true.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

A/N: So, I'll warn you all now – there's probably gonna be some angst in the v. close future, mainly because WTH? I am totally fluffing this thing up something crazy – an yeah, I gotta mix it up with angst, sorry!  
Sorry for the throw in of angst in the middle of all the 'nice-ness' lol, but I seriously just HAD to do it.

Thank you to ALL who read, review, alert, favourite! It means so so much to me, so please continue to do so :D  
Steph  
xxx


	10. Guess What?

Not gonna lie, this chapter was like pulling teeth in a number of parts. Sorry if it disappoints, I really hope it doesn't. I honestly am going to try get this fic finished up because I do so love it and all of you who've read/reviewed/favourited/alerted do deserve an ending, but I make no promises for when the next part will be posted, I'm afraid.

Hope you enjoy…

* * *

Chapter Ten: Guess What?

"_Happiness and sadness run parallel to each other. When one takes a rest, the other one tends to take up the slack."  
_**_Hazelmarie Elliott_**

.

Apparently Noah's immune system was about as good as his truck on an early morning run; a thought that warranted his voice in her head telling her _my baby runs jus' fine, Berry, it's you crankin' up the heat every two seconds; do you see any Eskimos toting around? It's not freakin' snowing outside, what's your deal-io?_

He'd taken the day off school, a fact she of course frowned upon, because fine his little sister was sick, but surely their Aunt could have stayed and cared for her. Apparently not, which resulted in Noah so _graciously _offering to take a day out of his academic endeavors to make sure Sarah didn't choke on her own vomit or fall asleep in the tub an' crack her head on the tiles he'd spent ages putting up. That was a direct quote; for one, she'd have had more tact in her phrasing.

She imagined his plans centered mainly on microwaving Sarah some of the soup she had prepared and sticking the girl in front of the TV with a blanket and her cuddly toys. Her thoughts were virtually confirmed when she arrived to find Sarah sitting on the couch quite happily wrapped up in her duvet watching cartoons, and an assortment of bowls and glasses with colored straws sticking out at all angles littering the surfaces around her.

After ensuring the little girl was all right and didn't need anything for the immediate time being, she set about cleaning up the dishes before embarking on a hide-and-seek mission to find Noah.

It didn't take her long to locate him; curled up on his side in his bed, clutching the pillow beneath his head.

If he wasn't sick, she had half a mind to give him a right rollicking that instant. Naturally, he interrupted her plans.

"Stop watching me, Berry," his voice, thick with sleep and raw from misuse just about reached her. "You'll give us a bad name. Peeps'll start thinkin' we're all creepy like Jewfro."

"If I wasn't so concerned about your well-being and my own drive for success didn't reside with you being part of our ensemble, _fit and healthy,_ I'd walk right back down those stairs and watch cartoons with your little sister," she informed him smartly.

He coughed and rolled over to face her, and boy, did he look ill.

She told him as such.

"Whatever, Berry, I bet this is some sort of ninja plan of yours to sex up the Puckasaurus while I'm all shit weak and easily bent to your will," he said, and even wiggled his eyebrows at her for added effect.

It didn't entirely have the effect she imagined it _might_ have, although that was a very suspect _might_, had he not looked so decidedly _sick_.

"That is vile and a complete defamation of my character," she informed him, and then smiled smarmily down at him as she added, "And that ridiculous moniker you've awarded yourself makes you sound like you should be in one of your _seven-year-old sister's_ cartoons."

"If that's your way of making me feel better, you suck, Berry," he said shortly.

"And you're _sick_," she intoned, and reached out to place the back of her hand on his forehead. "What happened?"

"What d'you mean?" he asked, flopping onto his back to look up at her leaning over him.

"I mean, when I last saw you, you were fine, and Sarah was the sick one. Now she's apparently fully recovered and from what I gather has been reaping the benefits of a free day off school and I'm now left to tend to you," she said, watching him with an increasingly crinkling brow. If she got wrinkles, she was sending him the bill for the Botox treatments. She didn't care what Barbara had to say on the matter; she didn't get a nose job because of the woman, but that didn't mean she could live with crows-feet before she was even twenty.

"Make me feel more helpless why don't you?" he grumbled and then shot her a look. "God, Berry, your ability to inspire other's confidence is _astounding_."

"Don't use big words against me in an attempt to distract me from my original point," she returned easily, hands on the hips as she stared him down. "Now tell me what happened."

"Yeah," he mumbled, and then looked away from her _beady-little eyes_; it wasn't enough that she was now upset about her nose, she had to be reminded of his comment about her apparently obtrusive gaze as well? "Little twerp threw up on me."

"She what?"

"You need me to say it again? What? You gone deaf now or something?" he grumbled, and glared up at her. "Brat barfed all over me. An' I blame _you _by the way."

She threw her hand up to her chest as her mouth fell open in a gasp.

"Yeah, you," he reiterated, sending her a pointed look. "I _told _you where to put the thing, I told you she projectile vomits like a _mother_fu- … so 'course she missed the bucket an' hit me instead. So yeah, s'your fault."

She _hmphed_ in return, feeling that was answer enough to what she thought of _that_ theory.

"I dunno what you've been feeding the kid, but I had to use the garden hose to clean myself off," he replied sourly. "Freakin' joke."

"Well, you can use the shower this time," she told him then, watching as his pout turned up to face her with those words. "You're burning up, in case you hadn't noticed – "

"I'm freezing, Berry, why you think I got like ten layers on?" he cut her off then, bright eyes staring into hers. "Then next thing I know, it's like I'm in fuckin' Africa or something 'cos I'm roastin'."

"Well, from that I'm going to ascertain that you have a fever," she said; honestly it was far easier when it was Sarah who was the one who was sick. "And we need to try and break it, so I need you to go into the shower."

She pulled back the covers quickly, ignoring his yelp and his immediate attempts to curl up into a ball away from her prodding hands. If she wasn't so focused on the immediate matter at hand, she might have taken the moment to look over his topless form, clad only in a pair of boxers, his supple form covered in a thin sheet of sweat. Luckily, she was exceptionally gifted in the art of multi-tasking, and if she happened to file this image away in her mind; along with the rather handy reminder of his baby-face pout and general child-like antics for future blackmail-usage; then that was even better. Although she swore he was corrupting her.

And to think, she used to be such a good girl; eyes on the prize. Since when had that come to include bagging Noah Puckerman?

"Come on, up!" she prompted of him. "Out of the bed, Noah. Now."

Slowly he unfurled himself, and shimmied to the edge of the bed, where he let his feet drop over the side till he was sitting on the edge.

"You an' Coach Sylvester should team up, frickin' drill-sergeants the pair of you," he cast a dark look up at her, although his bloodshot eyes took much of the sting out of it. "There'd be no fuckin' Nazis around with you two on the prowl. Jesus!"

"I'm sure there's a compliment somewhere in that colorful description," she remarked, and then bent down to tug on his upper arm and pull him into a standing position.

He swatted her hands away, but then he swayed on his feet, so _naturally_ she did the helpful thing and tried to help him. Being the stubborn _oaf _that he was, he continued to attempt to brush her off and then he lost all manner of balance completely and fell to the floor. Not before reaching out, however, and causing their flailing arms to become entwined so that she ended up on top of him.

Admittedly, it was not the worst place to be, sandwiched against the hard planes of his chest. Except, the small weight of her body landing on him in such an unexpected manner apparently winded him somewhat and he began to cough; in the awfully close proximity to her face.

She immediately covered her faces in her hands, muffling her screams for him to stop and to please direct his germs in a direction other than her ears, nose and throat; because everybody knew they were connected and she'd rather not contract a disease in any one of them, thank you very much.

In her endeavors to get him to stop, she apparently missed the moment when he did in fact do just that.

"Why are you covering your eyes, Berry?" he asked, amusement and confusion coloring his words; a realization that she picked up on instantly, making her immediately grateful that at least _some_ things appeared to be on the mend. His mood seemed to have lifted a little; which did in fact cause her own spirits to go on the rise.

"I – I was trying to carry out preventative measures at extremely short notice," she huffed. "I apologize if they didn't match up to your high standards, however – "

"Ear, nose an' throat so you go for your _eyes_!" he retorted. "How can you even say you gots more smarts than me with that dumbass move?"

He shook his head at her, but there was a smile on his lips and though he _was_ poking fun at her; it did make her extremely happy to see even a flicker of joy in him. So she begrudgingly allowed him to continue.

He rolled his eyes. "You're such a moron, Berry."

"Right, says the one who got puked on by his little sister," she muttered in return; almost like a reflex.

When she realized what she'd said, she shot a look up at him, eyes wide to match her gawping expression.

"Oh, you are so for it now," he told her; and she knew that tone. That tone did not bode well for her.

Somehow he managed to maneuver them both up off the floor and she ended up in his arms. She struggled in his grasp as he laughingly wrestled with her to keep hold of her as he walked along the corridor and she knew where he was taking her; knew his intention from the extra sparkle in his feverish eyes. He planned to dunk her in the shower; knowing his penchant for cruel jokes, he'd likely set the water to cold.

When she elbowed him in the stomach, he doubled over and coughs racked his frame. She felt so guilty she stopped twisting and turning and he stole the opportunity to sprint the rest of the way through the open doorway and into the bathroom.

When he stepped into the tub, she resumed her struggle once more and when the water started to spray down on them, she took what _she _thought was the ultimate preventative measure. She pulled the shower curtain down on top of her.

Of course, nothing ever seemed to work in halves with them, and he slipped on the wet surface and they plummeted into the water regardless of her attempts against such an occurrence; a tangled mess of limbs and material.

"You really should see someone about your inability to stay upright for any length of time," she told him, when she managed to emerge from the knots they'd bound themselves in.

"Right," he returned, his sarcasm ringing off the tiles. " 'cos it wouldn't have anything to do with your constant hounding of my body, would it, handsy?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she replied, her faux innocence obvious as she attempted to turn away from him.

"Shower curtain won't save you this time," he told her.

His smirk was clear even under the torrent of water from the showerhead and she let out a small squeal as he leaned forward, thrusting up the plastic sheeting in a flimsy attempt to put a barrier between her (and the thin layers that were sticking to her like a second skin next to his bare legs and the only piece of clothing actually on him) and him.

He pulled it down easily and stared at her with a grin on his face, and then he closed the distance between them.

She threw up a hand to cover her mouth just as his descended upon her. Of course, her timing might have been a little off, and her movement a tad jerky.

She smacked him on the upside of the jaw and his teeth cracked together with a horrible sound. He snapped his head back, hands flying to his mouth.

"What the _fuck_, Rachel?" he asked through cupped hands.

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, eyes pleasing with him to believe her.

He pulled his hands away so she could see the bloody mess she'd made of his face.

"I just – I didn't want to get sick because we played tongue wars," she finished feebly.

His head was bowed, and when he lifted his hand up to touch his lips, fingers coming away bloody, she winced.

Then slowly he looked up at her, and his face broke into laughter. "Tongue wars?"

She shrugged, dipping her head, suddenly becoming bashful in his presence and of the situation and her apparent inability to use simply terms.

"You know, if I didn't think you were gonna hit me again an mess up the pretty I got goin' on with my face, I'd lay one on you right now," he told her, his tone so matter-of-fact it warranted her full attention.

"Really?" she inquired, quirking an eyebrow.

He just looked at her. "What d'you think?"

She ducked her head once more, but the smile on her face was surely evident.

"Now, we about done here? 'cos I am freezing my butt off an' at some point you had to have realized that your nips are like hard enough to cut glass right now, an' that is jus' seriously cruel on all your mental little scales of punishment, Berry," he said, and she couldn't help it; after she looked down at the thin, wet material of her shirt and saw what he was referring to, she started to laugh.

He rolled his eyes and she fell into him, she was giggling so much.

"If you keep this up, I'm leaving," he said to that. "For real, Berry, I don't think you realize how much fuckin' self-restraint I'm showing here not to jus' cop a feel an' be done with it."

"And I am exceptionally grateful for your heroic display, Noah," she told him, adamant that she would keep a straight face, even if her tone wavered, and his scowl told her he was well aware she was trying not to burst into another fit of giggles.

"So, we're done?" he prompted.

She nodded. "Mhmm."

When he made to push himself up, both hands already braced on either side of the tub, she smiled down at him, a hand on his upper arm.

"Oh, no, Noah, I meant, _I'm _done here," she told him, smiling like an innocent down at him. "You're still a little warm, best to stay under for a short while longer."

She patted his arm and he lowered himself back down with a scowl.

"Want me to adjust the water to a colder setting?" she asked then, biting her lip to keep from triggering another set of giggles.

He growled at her, and she leapt from the tub with a small shriek.

"I'll have some warm soup and medicine waiting for you when you get out," she told him sweetly after she'd wrapped a large towel around herself.

"I might freeze in here," he replied, and turned to look up at her. "I think you'll need to come back and make sure I've not drowned or turned into an icicle 'cos of your shitty nursing skills."

She rolled her eyes at him, not even rising to the bait.

"Should've made you take me to the hospital," he said next. "Definitely woulda got one of _those _nurses to give me the special treatment."

"You're vulgar," she replied.

"Hey, don't blame me," he returned, with a brief laugh and an incline of the head. "We all know who started it."

She looked down to where he was gesturing and saw her chest on proud display with her top molded perfectly to her breasts and she gasped, dragging the towel fully across the front of her body and turning on her heel to flounce out the bathroom.

His laughter echoed off the tiles and followed her along the corridor to his room.

He truly was insufferable.

.

"I went by Sarah's school earlier," she mentioned, as she sat on the chair next to his bed.

"Oh yeah?" he cracked an eye open from where he lay on his side, and a minute passed before he added, "And what, Berry? You single-handedly put on a show worthy of Broadway for the little kidlings? What's your point?"

"You know, I fail to understand how being exceptionally _good_ at something warrants mockery from my peers? Moreover though, from you?" she said then; not at all unaware that she was taking something of a complete detour from the point she originally set-out to make. Then again, she wasn't entirely sure how, or even if, she should bring that up. "I don't see you or Finn being mocked for being brilliant football players, even though everyone is fully aware that the football team performs at such a sub-par level that mockery would actually be a rather appropriate attachment."

"Wait a minute, now, hold up," he said, and he tiredly pushed himself up until his elbow locked and he was blinking away the sleep from his eyes. "How did we get – ? What the Hell?"

"I apologize," she told him, taking a deep breath and brushing her palms along the tops of her tight-clad thighs, smoothing out the pleats in her skirt, and then repeating the action over again. "I guess I'm just agitated with the prospect of you missing out on more rehearsals for Glee and the increasingly likelihood that at this rate we won't perform to the standard I know we are capable of and we'll lose out on Nationals."

"Bull-_Shit_," he returned easily, pronouncing each syllable in turn.

"Excuse me?" she turned her wide eyes instantly towards him. Given the circumstances she thought she'd done fairly well to come up with a response in such a short time; and it sounded rather authentic to her.

"I'm not bein' funny, Berry, an' trust me this is probably gonna scare you as much as me," he answered. "But I can totally tell when you're lying. An' right there, you were _extreme _bull-shitting."

She opened her mouth and then closed it again. He looked set to say she looked like a goldfish, but didn't, thankfully.

"Alright, Noah, I wasn't being entirely truthful," she divulged. "And I promise I will tell you what I had intended to before we got sidetracked, but not right now. Alright?"

"Sounds serious," he replied; and he was watching her closely.

And then she beseeched of him, "I just need you to trust me, Noah,"

"Done," he responded.

"Just like that?" she asked, her voice surprisingly small as she searched for some marker on his face, a tremor of his hands.

"Jus' like that," he answered easily, his voice strong, his body still.

She would tell him, she would, of course she would. Just, not then; not when things were going so well; she'd give him that. She'd give them both that much; selfish as she knew she was being; she was well aware that these moments, when he smiled and laughed and was actually quite open with her, they were fleeting. She wanted to hold onto them as long as she could.

"You know I was jus' being a dick 'cos my mom's sick an' you're here an' I don't get how she can be like this every fuckin' day an' I can't even handle it for one," he spoke after a few minutes of silence had passed between them.

"I know," she replied softly.

"Right," he nodded stiffly, and then quirked his lips up at the corner and titled his head that bit to the side so she knew he was about to proposition her. "So, now we got that sorted, wanna hop into bed with me so I can get some shut-eye?"

.

He started laughing at the sight of her, standing there in his doorway with rubber gloves and a facemask on.

"What you doin', you crazy lady?" he asked amid the coughs that had broken through.

"Well, I believe I have chanced fate enough for one session, it would be terribly unwise to continue without some added form of protection," she informed him in a matter-of-fact tone, because she was deadly serious, why wouldn't she be?

"I ain't got _SARS_, Berry," he told her, his eyebrows high on his face as he continued to drink her in.

"No, but you do plan to breathe on me, and likely touch me, and we all know that this illness is infectious," she said, and then she stood up a little straighter, inhaling before she added, "And I will not be struck down by your disease all because you gave me puppy-dog eyes and I was too weak to resist them."

"Wait," came his instant response. And then his face split into a grin. "Does that mean no playing tongue wars?"

She swatted him with the pillow and then got into the bed beside him while his hands were otherwise occupied attempting to fend off her attack.

Blindly, he snaked his arm around her waist and tugged her in towards him, and she'd be loathe to admit it to him, but the rumble of his chest; more laugh, less cough; made her smile so wide her cheeks started to hurt.

The whole situation was crazy and backward and so not rational in the slightest in her mind; and yet, as she lay there in his arms, facemask firmly in place despite his obvious misgivings, although she did remove the rubber gloves; she honestly couldn't have been happier.

So, naturally that meant shit was about to go down.

Oh, Dear Lord, he had taken over her mind.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

Thank you so much for reading. I sincerely hope you liked it, and I honestly will try not to leave it very long at all till the next update.  
Please let me know what you thought of it – it would really mean a lot to me! :)

Thanks  
Steph  
xxx


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